Love is a Noun
by basilisk-chan
Summary: Tied together by the whims of fate, for better or for worse, France and England cannot exist without the other. England would rather have sex with a pot of glass shards. France is flirting and drowning his responsibilities in wine. America and Canada are busy writing fanfiction and drawing fanart. Everyone else thinks the world is ending.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Omg, so it's finally here ⤴︎ ε=ε=(ง ˃̶͈̀ᗨ˂̶͈́)۶ ⤴︎ ~! Man, I didn't think I'd ever get around to this. So, you probably want to just skip to the story, and I can't stop you, but here are a few things to know:**

 **1\. The one-shots will circulate through Francis x Alice, Francis x Arthur, Francine x Alice, Francine x Arthur. Got it? It's a tad bit complicated, I still have my head spinning every time I read it. Oh, well.**

 **2\. I accept requests! Send in a prompt (FrUK only for this series, sorry), and you can choose whether or not to include genders and time periods. If you don't, that's totally fine and I can choose those.**

 **3\. I have the right to deny any sort of requests. I refuse to write any smut, suicide, murder, or rape stories.**

 **4\. I will only be updating once a week, since I have violin auditions to prepare for (35 days), and "Summer School" to do. Also, updating once a week allows more time for writing _Blood on the Pavement_** **(which is in progress as we speak). Another thing to note is that I may or may not post in the 2nd week of July, since _mia familia_ is planning a trip to Cali for a week and I'll be hella busy.**

 **So, without further ado, I present _Love is_ _a_ _Noun!_**

* * *

 **Letters**

France x Fem!England

The personification of France stared down at the crumpled letter in his hands, bewildered.

It was old and wrinkled like someone had tried to destroy the thing but either couldn't or didn't want to. The envelope looked as if it'd been carried through rain, mud and…were those blood stains? The bright red wax seal that held together the letter was old, too. Over two hundred years old, if he guessed right.

What a peculiar thing to find in England's office. He had been sneaking into the cantankerous country's office, looking for something interesting to do, just moments earlier. Francis was waiting for her to show up since their bosses had insisted on another meeting between the two. Honestly, he didn't know why either of them thought putting them together was a good idea. They were like oil and water, as the phrase went. Worse, they were France and England, they'd been fighting for thousands upon thousands of years. In all those thousands of years, he'd never been waiting for England for over two hours. What was it Shakespeare said? Better to be three hours early than a minute too late, or something ? It was strange, really. Alice was always punctual. Her boss must've held her back for something and she forgot to cancel. That was the only logical reason Francis could come up with. Really, the blonde woman was working herself way too hard. For once, it'd be nice if she took a vacation from work. Just watching her do all that work made him tired; he had no idea how she managed it all. Then again, Alice was always so determined. She'd been like that since she was a child. Alice dreamed of becoming an empire from an early age. Her siblings and later other European countries ridiculed her for thinking that. No one could ever beat Rome. He was the greatest empire ever. Even Francis used to tell her that her dream was silly, but that had just made her even more determined. And she did it. She became one of the strongest empires to exist. And if France was being truly honest on an odd day, he might even say that she was the greatest empire he knew. She'd made mistakes, they all did. But she changed the way countries lived. She got rid of the old tradition to treat your colonies like slaves, her people invented the Magna Carta, and one of the earliest countries to abolish slavery. Alice had several colonies that grew up to become strong, steady countries, as well. Especially, Alfred and Matthew, which he did have a role to play in if he did say so himself. Alice resembled her country's national animal very well. A lion. A noble lioness that once ruled one-fourth of the entire planet. They say that the British Empire has long gone, and it's true that she's not as powerful as she once was, but it's wrong to say that. At least to Francis. He can still see that spark of fire in her whenever she's fired up. A spark that was still bright, centuries later. Not that he'd ever admit it, but it was the main reason why he teased her so much. It was too fun to see her light up like that. And besides, when your only other option is to pay attention to Germany's long speeches, who can blame him ? He looked back down at the letter. Alice kept many small trinkets in her attic from her past. Her pirate clothes, Victorian clothes, swords, guns, jewels, etc. One from every era of hers, and she used magic to keep it protected, he thinks he remembered Alice telling that to Honk Kong. But a letter? That was a new one. What was so special about a letter? She wouldn't mind if he opened it right? Ah, _que_ _diable_ , the worst she would do was turn him into a frog for a week. Careful not to destroy the delicate thing, Francis took a silver letter opener from Alice's desk and slowly split open the envelope. A pale, perfectly clean piece of parchment paper fell out. Alice must've put a spell on it since it wasn't completely destroyed like it's envelope. He unwrapped the letter and he began to read.

 _Dear Francis Bonnefoy, AKA the frog,_

 _I love you._

Francis felt his heart stop.

 _I know, it's utterly bonkers. And I know I'm a complete moron for thinking I'd ever be lucky enough for you to even glance at me in that way. For even thinking that I might deserve anyone. It's been on my mind for as long as I can remember, constantly nagging at me, but I only realized what it was that I was feeling after I was forced to marry Spain. Do you remember that? Mary was so smitten with Phillipe, there was nothing I could do._

 _Your friend is an utter bastard, by the way._

Francis couldn't help it. He laughed.

 _Every time I'm around you, I'm in constant awe. I try to impress you: dress better than the other girls, to show to you that I excel in the social world and poetry and music. That I can succeed in power and battle. But I've always been a clumsy fool. I'm not elegant like you. Francis, you're beautiful, inside and out. France, your kind, and caring, even to those who will never deserve it. Your voice is beautiful, and I'm sorry that I tease you about your accent. I don't mean it, really, and I know it makes you self-conscious._

Francis frowned at that. Alice certainly didn't act like she was trying to impress him. She was competitive, yes, but he never once thought that she was trying to impress anyone. Let alone him. Then again, Alice had always been different around Francis. She knew him better than anyone else and it made him feel…Odd. Almost like a hideous wool sweater. Warm and comforting while still driving you mad with an itch that just wouldn't go away.

 _Your skin is smooth, your hair is silky gold and your eyes…God, your eyes are mesmerizing. They're a deep, rich sea of velvet indigo. I could stare at them all day, but I'll never tell anyone that, least of all you. They carry so much emotion, and though you're constantly trying to hide it during political battles, I can see it. They hold smoldering passion. You fight for your people; you carry a rebel's spirit._

Francis' cheeks lit aflame. Sure, he wasn't lacking in compliments, nor was he self-conscious, but a compliment from Alice was worth more than gold.

 _All I am is a soldier. I know nothing more than the bloodlust of battle, and you showed me more than that._

Francis quickly frowned. She wasn't just a soldier. She was a mother, a warrior, a martyr, a writer, a romantic, a terrible cook, a witty and cranky woman and so much more. **_She wasn't just a soldier._**

 _You have the most beautiful smile, Francis, I hope you know that._

 _I hope you know that, despite being ridiculed by other countries, you're one of the bravest countries, no, person, I know. But yes, you are a tad bit ridiculous, though you're adorable when you are. You hate fighting. You're a lover, after all. But when you fight for love, no one can stand in your way. Your country is beautiful, too. The rivers, the mountains, the perfect weather, the plains. The meadows of flowers and your enchanting forests. Your people are kind and ingenious._

 _And in all honesty, Francis, your wine isn't too bad. Or your food. I'm never fully truthful with you, but, out of all the millions of dishes I've eaten in my life, none has ever been like yours._

Francis' felt his heart swell and he had to look away for fear of bursting in joy.

 _I always try to make you proud, but I know that you won't be._

 _Why should you? You hate me, and you have every right to. I killed her. I killed the woman that you loved, the warrior of God. She was beautiful, and yet, so simple. She was but a humble farm girl and you put all of your trust into her. You loved her. You loved her and you'd only known her for a short while. I'd been trying to make you see how much I loved you, just to see, for hundreds of years._

 _But you loved her, and not me._

 _I'm sorry. I can't physically describe how sorry I am for what I did to her. For what I did to you. I made you, the embodiment of "amour", hate love. It took you centuries to recover, and even today I worry that you still aren't all right. I know you're scared to love again, so you simply settle for one-night stands._

 _If I could rewind time, I would change it. I'd save her, even if it felt like my heart was being crushed as you smile down at her._

 _How many people have you loved and had taken away from you? Did you really love my brother, Alistair? It hurt so much to see both my family and the man I love fight against me at the same time._

Francis' heart stung and he felt the sudden urge to cry out. NO. No, he didn't hate Alice. He had hated her. He wanted to kill her with his bare hands several times. But he didn't hate her now. Francis had long since forgiven Alice. He knew how much she regretted Jeanne. Even during the times of the Hundred Years' War, Francis had known that Alice hadn't really meant for Jeanne's death. He knew that she left a bouquet of lilies on Jeanne's statue every year, without fail, even though he had never seen her.

 _Do love little Canada? Little, shy, quiet Matthew? I know you do. I can recognize a father's love. Another thing that I love about you, you accept Alfred as your own, even though he's not your colony. Even though he's my child. Thank you so much, Francis. You don't live with us, so you don't know how much it makes a difference in Alfred's life. In mine. He calls you papa, you know. I hope one day he can tell you that to your face, and you can find room in your heart to call him your son, despite his connection to me._

Francis loved Matthew and Alfred. Of course, he did. They were his children as much as they were her's. Surprisingly, Alfred was much shyer than Matthew when it came to expressing feelings and love. Francis supposed that that had to do with him being primarily brought up by Alice. She'd had such an isolated and terrible childhood. She had given her best to Matthew and Alfred, but even she had drawn short at some points because she had no experience.

 _I suppose that you should know that the reason I'm writing this letter is to forget._

 _Portugal said this was a good way to deal with these feelings. Granted, he didn't know what I was writing about, he just said that the best way to get rid of negative feelings are to write them down and then burn them._

Francis snorted. Portugal. Of course, she went to Portugal. Never mind talking to Francis. France who had been with her since they had met in the glory days of the Roman Empire. France who had seen every part of Alice and would continue to see every part, damn it.

 _I don't know whether these feelings are bad or good. You always make me feel so happy, but at the same time, it hurts. I get explosions in my stomach and I can't think straight around you. Kind of like rum, actually. You make me feel drunk._

 _Not very romantic, is it?_

No, it wasn't, but it still made Francis giddy inside.

 _It's true, stupid enough as it is. I want to tell you, but I know I shouldn't. We're enemies. We have been for thousands of years, now. I need to get rid of these feelings before they interfere with my life as a country. As the protector of Britannia. Don't take offense to it, I just can't take that risk. We both can't. We were made to protect and serve our people until the day they no longer need us, and so I shall carry out my duty, whether I like it or not._

 _This is goodbye. Goodbye, to all the feelings I have for you. I no longer get tingles in my stomach, I no longer get giddy when you're around, I no longer will waste hours trying to get your attention, I no longer will try to make myself beautiful for you._

 _I no longer love you._

 _-Sincerely, Alice Kirkland._

Francis took a moment to process that. He kept glancing up and down from the paper in his hands. **_She loved him?! Alice Kirkland loved him?!_** A slow, but a grand smile began to cross his face.

Sizzling feelings ran through him, like that exploding candy that Alfred had in his country. Francis was taken over with a giddy feeling. Suddenly, he jumped up and started just wiggling around and kicking around in a happy mess. _"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!"_ He shouted, happily. He could care less if anyone heard him or came into the room. She loved him. The woman he'd been starstruck in love with for as long as he's known the word _amour,_ finally returned his feelings!

Wait…

He stared down at the letter, again. Just to make sure it wasn't a dream or a stupid prank of Spain's or Prussia's. Nope, only Alice could manage to have that perfectly, tiny, neat, cursive handwriting.

 _But the letter's so old_ , a voice in his head said, _are you sure she still feels this way?_

Another spoke up, _Why would she have the letter still if she didn't love you anymore?_

"Frog, what are you doing here?" Alice asked from the door.

Francis felt a jolt go through him, he hid the letter behind his back as quickly as he could. "O-Oh, Alice, I-I zought we were ha-having a meeting today?"

"Not for another hour, actually." Alice stared at him skeptically. As if she didn't notice him hide the letter. "What's that?"

 _"Ce n'est rien!"_ Francis said, way too quickly. _"R-Rien. Il est juste des trucs de travail."_

Right. Alice wasn't in the mood for any that shit. She'd had two other meetings already, filled with a bunch of fifty-year-old pricks who thought they knew better than her, a fucking twelve thousand and something-year-old country. And lets not even talk about how many interns that had run into her and spilled their cheap frappuccinos on her white blouse. She stalked over to France.

He tried to put it out of her reach, but her knee shot up hit him straight in the family jewels. The French nation let out a strangled cry before falling to the ground and groaning in pain.

Alice's eyes scanned the paper and a cold wave of horror splashed down her spine. Her eyes went wide and her hands trembled as she held the paper in her hand. "…How much of it did you read?" Alice's voice was deadly calm and quiet.

Hesitantly, Francis looked up. "All of it." His voice was soft, and Alice took it as a sign of rejection. She flinched when France's hand grabbed her wrist, but his hold was gentle.

Alice felt her eyes sting and her nose prickle. She tossed her head to the opposite direction. England would not let him see her cry over something so-so-so…so stupid. _"Chérie, s'il vous plaît, regardez-moi."_ Francis whispered softly, standing up. _"Avez-vous vraiment dire il? Ce que tu as dit?"_

"N-no!" She hissed, still looking away. "Of course, I didn't, you bastard! It was just a practical joke, that's all. I-I just never got around to sending it to you."

"It says you were supposed to burn it." Francis still kept his voice soft. He desperately didn't want the spark of hope in his chest to go out. _"…Alice, me regarde."_ Francis took his slender hands and turned her head towards him. Alice didn't resist for some reason. Maybe some masochistic side of her wanted this. Wanted him to find out the truth. Francis barely held himself back from wiping away the tears that blurred her grass green eyes.

"I don't want your pity." She managed to huff at him. "I've gotten over it, anyways."

"Have you? Have you really?"

No.

No, of course, she hadn't. Alice never once managed to burn the damn thing. Every time she tried, something deep in her chest stopped her. Alice carried that letter nearly everywhere with her, you could tell by the envelope. She took it with her in the Revolutionary War, both of the World Wars, every battle after writing the letter. It was a charm, of sorts. It kept her grounded, reminding her that she too, was just a person when you took away the fancy titles and age. It kept her feeling safe from the nightmares that World War II left on her.

Her silence was enough for Francis. "I never noticed…" He let out a bitter, humorless chuckle. "I'm the country of _amour_ and I didn't even notice your feelings."

Alice huffed as she felt another stab to her pride. "Of course, you didn't. Being the country of love doesn't make up for the fact that you're a complete moron, Frog."

"Do you still believe in it, _Anglettere_?" Francis asked. _Do you still believe in love, Alice? Even, after all, you went through? After all those years that I remained oblivious?_

She didn't stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks. Oh, well. She can just use a forget spell on Francis later. "Yes… Just look a-at, Alfred and Ivan. O-or Germany and Italy, or-"

"You." Francis insisted, clenching her wrist tighter, unknowingly. "Do you believe that love-"

"Will find me?" Alice whipped herself out of his hold. "Do you know how long I've waited? How long I've wished that just once. Once! One time for me to feel what love is?" Her voice cracked as she yelled. Composure was completely forgotten, now. Alice sunk to the floor, sobbing. "Fairy Tales of true love are for the good people. For the ones who don't have billions of peoples blood on their hands. For the ones that aren't like me-"

Francis didn't stop himself.

His lips crashed onto hers, desperately trying to unleash all the feelings he held for her. All the love, the lust, the hate, anger, the sadness, everything. Slowly, Alice began to move her lips against his. She was kissing back. He didn't hide the smile that smeared his face. The hope and love sizzled in his chest, spreading through his blood and circling through his whole being. Reluctantly, they pulled away.

Francis was about to confess his undying love for her, but Alice shoved him away. "Where are they?" She hissed, bright green eyes livid and full of pain.

"Wha-"

"Where's Spain and Prussia?" Alice said, "Where are they, recording this? I refuse to be part of one of your untasteful pranks-"

Francis grabbed her wrist and forced her hand onto his chest. "Can't you feel it?" His heartbeat was running faster than it ever had before. It echoed in his mind. _"Mon cœur ne se sent comme ça quand je suis près de toi, Alice. Je t'aime. Je vous ai toujours aimé, je le promets."_

"…Please tell me you mean it." England clung to his shirt, clentching it tightly. Any other time, he would've scolded her for wrinkling the expensive material, but right now he couldn't care less. Her hands were trembling.

 _"Je t'aime, Alice."_

A shy smile graced her face. Little explosions ran through her body. The words sounded rough on her tongue, it'd been so long since she last said something in her original language, but she managed _. "Ic lufie þē."_ And then their lips met once more.

 **Translations:**

 _Que diable_ = What the hell.

 _Mon Dieu_ = My God.

 _Ce n'est rien_ = It's nothing.

 _Rien. Il est juste des trucs de travail_ = Nothing. It 's just work stuff.

 _Chérie, s'il vous plaît, regardez-moi_ = Darling, please, look at me.

 _Avez-vous vraiment dire il? Ce que tu as dit?_ = Do you really mean it? What you said?

 _…Alice, me regarde_ = …Alice, look at me.

 _Amour_ = Love.

 _Anglettere =_ England

 _Mon cœur ne se sent comme ça quand je suis près de toi, Alice. Je t'aime. Je vous ai toujours aimé, je le promets =_ My heart only feels like that when I 'm around you, Alice. I love you. I have always loved you, I promise.

 _Je t'aime, Alice_ = I love you, Alice. _Ic lufie þē_ = I love you.

* * *

 **It should also be noted that not all of the one-shots will be this long. Over 2k words, I can guarantee, but I'm a pretty inconsistent b*tch. Also, let me know if you guys want to see more fluff, or any specific periods or characters you want to see, etc. All feedback is welcome.**  



	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 3, guys!**

* * *

 **Perception**

France x England

Arthur was not gay.

He was merely curious. No, Arthur wasn't even that. Arthur was sure that he was straight. After all, he had had sex with at least six girls in his first year of college. Granted, Arthur suspected that they were only attracted to his British accent. Since as soon as they realized that he was just as poor as them – and did not, in fact, know or was related to Queen Elizabeth II – they high tailed it.

He had been unwillingly dragged here by his best friend, Alfred, after the prat had walked into their dorm and had seen something he shouldn't have. It wasn't anything scandalous, just a mistake. Arthur had been reading the news on his phone and the article had been about the grand opening of a gay strip club just in the next town over.

That was it. Arthur accidentally pressed the article, Alfred knew how touchy phones could be.

But that didn't mean that the bubbly American had listened to a single word when he had dragged him there, Arthur groaning and yelling as he went. The club wasn't inherently bad. Darkly colored lights flashed, but not at an annoying or nauseating pace. Dubstep blared in the background and luckily enough it wasn't just Skrillex on shuffle, but the playlist actually had some variety to it. Definitely one of the better ones he'd seen, thanks to Alfred. Arthur had been to many clubs as a result of Alfred dragging him around to all of Alfred's parties.

Arthur **_hated_** social interaction with a burning passion. He would've much rather be at his messy, yet cozy, dorm room with a nice cuppa and a good book. And yet, the American bugger insisted that he needed social interaction and would always manage to drag him out of their dorm some way or another, though usually with his inhuman strength. Alfred was lucky, he'd gotten there on a soccer – **_not football_** – scholarship and as long as he kept his grade above a C, he'd be fine.

Arthur, on the other hand, had things to worry about.

Arthur was a pre-law student with loans higher than his yearly tuition and borrowing more and more every year wasn't helping. He needed to get back to his dorm and study. He glanced over at Alfred. And then he wished he hadn't. His roommate was currently grinding up with some pale, tall, Russian man. Arthur looked away before he vomited.

It wasn't that he was homophobic, no, he had a brother who was gay and Alfred his best friend, came out to him first when they were in high school. Arthur had even been there to go in a few rounds of fisticuffs when a couple of twats at school kept calling Alfred a unicorn. But Alfred was his best friend and nearly like a brother to him, so no, Arthur was quite fine with not seeing Alfred sex it up on the dance floor with a random stranger, thank you very much.

Well, he could leave. Nothing was really stopping him, was there?

Arthur looked down at his phone. The bright screen nearly blinded him. 7:46pm. If he left now, he could get in one, maybe two good solid hours of studying. Alfred had never minded before whenever Arthur left the parties, which was always. Alfred was always too busy babbling on about how he had such a good time to notice the fact that Arthur did not in fact care and hadn't even been present at the party for about eighty-five percent of the time. But…something was holding the Brit back…

Or, more accurately, someone.

He watched the main man on the dance floor, hypnotized. The man's slender and tanned limbs danced around the pole, gracefully and skillfully. He had soft blond hair that curled lightly against his nape, swinging freely as he danced around the silver pole. Arthur's flesh heated up as he watched the stripper do some…provocative movements.

Arthur had been staring, he realized, for at least a good twenty minutes, which was not good.

He looked around quickly to see if anyone noticed. They hadn't, from what he'd seen. Alfred was obviously busy, the bartender looked as though he couldn't give a fuck about anything, and the rest of the bar was either stripping, dancing, or watching the mysterious man. Luckily, Arthur noted, he was quite possibly in the darkest part of the club, where no one, not even the man on stage could see him.

He thought again about his school books and tea and quiet.

Arthur looked back at the man. He sighed, looking down at his phone. He'd leave in ten more minutes.

The stripper danced strut around the silver pole, a velvety smirk on his face. Arthur studied his face, carefully. The man had dark blue, to the point of indigo, eyes. They were rich and just…soft, glinting in excitement. His pale jaw was curved smoothly, elegant.

Arthur scolded himself.

He wasn't supposed to feel that way about a man. Let alone a stripper. Still, his eyes couldn't help themselves. The slight stubble on the man's chin was adorable and yet, alluring at the same time. The man looked so relaxed, even as he hoisted himself up onto the silver dance pole, spinning elegantly. His blonde hair swung around, almost graceful. For a moment, Arthur wondered how he could look so beautiful, scratch that, well-composed as he did that movement. Arthur was entranced. The man made a few more provocative movements. The club went into a loud cheer, money flying across the room and to the stage. The Brit felt a flare of not exactly jealously, but protectiveness.

He paused. That was just his human nature, wasn't it? He was worried for the man's safety, that was all.

Arthur. Was. Not. Gay.

He wasn't.

Arthur examined the man more closely. What was it that was attracting him to the man so much? It must've been the fact that he looked like a girl. That was it. The stripper looked so feminine, that Arthur was reacting that way. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Arthur's alarm went off. He felt a wave of disappointment, though he had no idea why. He hated social events, especially ones like these. The stripper did one last flourish around the pole before landing gracefully on the stage. He was beaming with energy. The smile that was plastered on his face shown throughout the strip club. Arthur tried to ignore how the stubble on the man's chin looked vaguely something akin to adorable. No, no. It wasn't. It was annoying and untidy. Not adorable. The club roared in applause, almost hiding the thundering sound of his heartbeat.

Almost.

The man's velvet eyes had landed on Arthur. He _knew_ that those eyes were for him. The stripper's grin turned into a playful smirk, and Arthur felt a chill run up his spine. It wasn't… _unpleasant_ , per say. And that scared the Brit more than anything. Arthur bolted from his seat, snatching up his coat and phone. He needed to leave before he did something insanely stupid. The man from the stage raised an eyebrow, still smirking. It felt like he was saying _Leaving so soon?_ God, if it wasn't for the fact Arthur was in a hurry to get out of there, he would dare say the man's smile was infectious. Then it hit him like a truck full of bricks. _Oh, shit._ He stormed out into the cold air of the world. It stung. It felt like needles prickling across his exposed skin. Arthur huffed and slipped his coat over.

He needed a good cuppa, some Shakespeare, a cold shower, and possibly a quick call to his brother.

* * *

 **Oh, man. I had a few problems with this one. Word crashed on me and I ended up having to re-write the thing. Plus, I had some problems with . BUT, it's here, so that's awesome. I think it turned out okay. And, as someone who's never even thought of going to strip club, I think I did all right. I'll admit this one was inspired by a comment made on _The Game is On_ and it got me thinking. ****Though, originally, Arthur was supposed to be a stripper, but I just couldn't imagine Arthur doing that (-_-). Francis, however, probably does it on weekends just for fun. Oh, and that reminds me! _AngelDemonPrankster_ , I am currently writing the Red String AU that you requested! It's so much fun to write and I was definitely hoping to write one of them. Anyway, because of the way this is set up, you won't see your one-shot until June 5 (sorry!), but I am writing it, so I'm not ignoring you or anything. Well, that's all. Thanks for reading and have a good day (or night)!**


	3. Chapter 3

**This one was so awesome and fun to write and if you guys like it, I would love to write a separate series for this :)**

* * *

 **Profession (Part 1)**

Fem!France x Fem!England

A blonde woman weaved her way through the bustling crowds.

The grin on her face was brighter than the sun hidden behind the gray mist that covered the skies of New York City. She wore a clean, pressed suit that her Mother had given her for her twenty-first birthday, just after she had graduated college. In one hand, she held an over-priced coffee that wasn't as good as she had thought it would be – not that she minded, the woman was too busy being bubbly and giggly – and in the other, her briefcase.

Francine Bonnefoy had moved from Paris to New York City a little bit after college, seeking a purpose. Of course, she could have easily just leached off of her Father for the rest of her life, but she didn't want that. She had been called a "spoiled rich girl" her entire life, and even though it wasn't particularly wrong, she didn't want that. Francine never did. It came with it's perks, yes, but she wanted to make her way into the world by herself.

And what better way to do that then travel abroad with a political science degree?

Her Father had nearly torn his hair out about that, but Mother had managed to calm him down. But it didn't matter to her. Francine had been in New York City for only about a month before she managed to snag a job interview as the secretary for the biggest electronics company. It had factories nearly all across the globe, and was right up there with the companies Pineapple and Macrosoft. Ha! And her family said that she would never amount to anythin – !

Francine collided with someone, her coffee flying out of her hands.

She was stunned, but not nearly as bad until the person she had bumped into started cursing violently. Francine could only stare. **_"Fuck!"_** The woman in front of her cussed, glaring down at the stain on her formerly white blouse. She had light, ash blonde hair that was pulled back into such a strict bun that it nearly made the French girl wince. Francine watched in amazement as she heard words that she did not know were words. A chill hissed up her spine as the fiery blaze of emerald found Francine.

 ** _"_** ** _Do you know how much this fucking cost?"_** Her voice sent fearful shivers throughout her body.

Finally, she snapped back to attention. "I – I'm so sorry, _Madame._ I didn't see you and I – I wasn't paying attention. I – Oh, _mon Dieu_ , I am so sorry!" She froze, seeing the Italian designer name in the coat of her suit. She recognized the brand from what her Mother would wear occasionally. Replacing just the blouse would cost her an entire month and a half's paycheck!

"French? I should've fucking known." The woman snarled at her.

The British woman in front of her looked like she was going to go into another rant, but the smartly dressed man whispered something in her ear. He looked like a bodyguard from one of the movies, dressed in black and white, wearing black glasses.

The business woman turned back to give Francine a tired glare.

"I don't have any time for this." She dug a card out of her pocket. "Call me when you're done with your interview. Then, we can _discuss_ how you are going to repay me for this… ** _mess_**." And then she was gone.

It took Francine exactly fifteen minutes and thirty-two seconds to remember that she hadn't said anything about the interview to **_anyone_**.

She shuddered, whipping around and craning her neck. Looking for anything. Anything that would tell her where the woman had gone. And how she knew about that interview. _"Qu'est ce que j'ai fait?"_

XXX

The Frenchwoman gazed up at the glass skyscraper in front of her.

 **Kirkland and Co.**

She swallowed nervously. Her palms were sweaty and her heart was pounding against her chest. _Well,_ she supposed, _the worst that could happen is that I don't get the job._ Francine straightened her back. No, she wasn't going in there. Not with that attitude, at least. "I'm Francine Adeliade Charlotte Bonnefoy, ze zird." She took a deep breath, just like her Mother taught her. "I'm important and intelligent and beautiful. If zey don't want me, zat's zeir problem."

"But they will want me," Francine reassured herself, ignoring the curious eyes. "Because I am important, intelligent, and beautiful."

The French noble-lady swayed through the building, a smile on her face and back straight.

The building was sleek, decorated in the finest modern furniture, almost as if Francine was walking into a designer building or one of those buildings on the commercials or movies. People rushed back and forth through the building, all smartly dressed in prim suits probably made in Italy or France. Some spoke into their Bluetooth or phones. Others left the building with a downtrodden expression, and she may have caught a few crying softly.

The nervousness in Francine's stomach twisted and coiled tightly.

She took a shaky breath and walked over to the receptionist's desk, with as much grace as she could muster. "Excuse me," She spoke. The receptionist looked up, a smile on her face. The receptionist was very beautiful. Startlingly so. With long, wavy tan hair and sparkling green eyes, the Frenchwoman felt a twinge of jealousy, even though she was perfectly confident in her own body. Francine didn't exactly miss the woman's bust, either.

"Hello," She said. Her accent was thick. She stuck her hand out to shake. "My name is Elizabeta."

"Francine Bonnefoy." Francine shook her hand, trying not to think about the fact that maybe Elizabeta's boss had a thing for pretty, busty women. She definitely tried not to think about a fat, bald man with a lecherous grin. She **_would not_** work for someone like that, no matter the pay. Francine had her dignity, despite how poor she was getting. Hell, she'd rather be a stripper than work for a perverted old man.

Despite that, she said, "I'm here for ze, uh, secretary interview?"

A flash of recognition crossed Elizabeta's face. "I see. Here you are," She gave Francine a paper with the directions to the office. "Oh, and a word of advice?"

Francine nodded quickly. Anything was useful, at this point. _"Oui?"_

"Don't ass-kiss or use ze word 'passion'." Elizabeta caught the confused Frenchwoman's face. "Just trust me. I've been working 'ere for over five years, I know what I'm talking about."

"Er, why would zey not like zat?" Francine asked.

"Because ze big cheese has heard all of zat." Elizabeta waved a hand nonchalantly, "Zey couldn't give a shit about passion or ass kissers, because – as ze boss would say – 'Who ze fuck aspires to be a secretary?'"

"Ah," Francine nodded. "Zat makes sense." After thanking Elizabeta for her time and advice, Francine stepped into the nearby elevator and prayed to whatever God there was out there.

XXX

Francine twitched nervously.

A man exited the Kirkland office. He wore the same black and white suit from the man earlier today with that woman. Maybe that woman worked at the Kirkland building and that was how she knew about Francine's interview. The man looked her up and down. "Francine Bonnefoy?"

"Yes?" Francine stood, her legs shaking like a jackhammer.

"The boss will see you now." The man opened the door for her. The office was just like the outside interior, clean and sleek. It held no trace of personality, whatsoever. Your average cubicle had more spunk than that office.

Francine jumped as the door closed behind her with a firm click.

Glancing around one last time, she settled into the chair in front of the desk, waiting. Her brain thought it was a good idea to come up with all the ideas of what could go wrong. He could be a serial killer. He could rape her if she refused the job and then payed all the media into silence. He could've been one of those weirdos with a fetish for feet and foreign women with big boobs. Or, worst of all, he could bare a resemblance to that one American politician that talked funny and said strange things she couldn't understand. What was his name again? She was sure it had something that had something to do with a musical instrument.

Another door from within the office opened and a women stepped out.

She was wearing a dark red suit, completely different from earlier. Her ash blonde hair was still in it's tight bun, amazingly. Obsidian earrings dangled from her earlobes, clashing against the somewhat pale skin. Bright green eyes – like liquid grass – sparkled over her glasses.

"Hello, Ms. Bonnefoy." Her rich, English accent rung through the thick, stunned silence. "I, myself, have never been a coffee person, but you seem to have taken my dislike for the putrid liquid even farther since this morning."

 _Oh, no._ Francine took back everything she said about a bald, perverted boss. Anything would be better than **_her_**.

 **Translations:**

 _Madame_ = Madame.

 _Mon Dieu_ = My God.

 _Qu'est ce que j'ai fait?_ = What have I done?

 _Oui_ = Yes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Whoohoo~! It's chapter 4!**

* * *

 **Guardian**

Fem!France x England

Arthur hissed as the knife slashed through his skin.

 _"_ _Arthur!"_ He faintly heard Francine screech behind him, clutching onto the back of his uniform. He barely felt warm blood seep down his arm. Arthur's gaze was focused on the bastard in front of him. The hatred burned within him. The hatred of his people and of himself, Arthur Kirkland.

The man – No, the _monster_ – glared fiercly behind hooded, ice blue eyes.

In one gloved hand, he held a silver knife. The same knife that had just torn the flesh of Arthur's cheek seconds ago. Germany stood stiff and proud in his dark blue uniform.

But Arthur had been a country for far longer than Ludwig had. He had been in more battles than Ludwig could even try to imagine. Arthur had seen more blood than Ludwig could think of. He had killed more than the young country could imagine. He was born in the time of war and blood. _Kill or be killed_ ran in his veins thicker than blood. Ludwig, no matter how strong he grew or how many genocides he started, would never reach it. Germany could never feel the burn that constantly sizzled in his body.

Bloodlust.

Ludwig would never understand, because of the world that the countries before him had built. Countries like Prussia, France, Spain, Portugal, and Austria. A world that England had built from the ashes of the Roman Empire. He saw the birth of the New Age, the birth of peace. A time when one could practice whatever religion they wanted. A world where rape and murder were punishable by death. A time where Arthur didn't need to sleep with both eyes open and a knife in his hand.

England would be fucking damned if he let some madman with the IQ of a tomato destroy that precious world.

The Briton noticed the worn down look of the German. His skin was paler than usual, his eyes had dark circles underneath them. His face almost looked sunken in, like he hadn't eaten in a while. Arthur didn't feel any twitch of pity for him. Not even a sliver.

"Give Vichy back to me, _Britannien_." Ludwig, personification of Nazi Germany, said. His thick accent sizzled, hoarse. Probably from screaming as the bombs dropped across his land. Ludwig had delt with the bombings for a while now. But not nearly as long as Arthur had. Not nearly as painful as Arthur felt.

 _How did it feel, Ludwig?_ **_How did it fucking feel to be burned apart from your insides?_** To listen to the screams of thousands like a _God damn lullaby_? To have your skies lit up by fire and ash every night? To have your people never know if they'd be next? How did it feel to be reduced into a pile of trembling mush everytime you heard a noise even slightly akin to that horrible, sky shattering crack?

It was maddening, wasn't it? Excruciating couldn't even begin to describe the London Blitz.

"That's not her name." Arthur's voice was low and hoarse, far worse than Ludwig's. Arthur could feel how dangerous his words sounded. They reverberated around him, humming and buzzing with fury. He had seen so much the past years. He'd felt so much pain. His people had dealt with more than they had ever dealt with. This was by far the worst war he had been in his whole, long life. "And she will **_never_** be yours, not so long as I'm here."

"Brave words for a crumbling island." Germany's gaze surveyed England with a critical eye. Assesing his strength.

Arthur's back straightened itself unconciously. Good fucking luck trying to determine how much strength the Briton had in him. Hitler had been trying that since the beginning of the war and he still failed everytime. The strength of his people was not something that could be measured on a fucking scale. You push, they push back harder. His peoples's stubbornness in refusing to surrender had kept him going.

In fact, when the Blitz should have crumbled the British people, it only resulted in strengthening the flint and iron in their bones.

"And yet, here I am. Still standing." He moved his arm in front of the quivvering woman behind him. He tried not to wince. Fuck. The wound was still pulsing painfully from under the shredded uniform. But he couldn't back down. He wouldn't. Not when he was this far. It had driven him insane to find France.

He would never let go of her again.  
Francine had been there every second. After all the things that changed in their world; automobiles; wars; treaties; the birth and death of countries; genocides; slavery, everything. France was a constant. She had always been there, somehow. Until she wasn't. Arthur never knew how much he really, truly needed her until she was gone. Until she was snatched away by a murdering psycho. He would never let go of her again.

"We wouldn't be in zis situation if you'd surrendered when you had the chance, England." Ludwig hissed at him. "How many people could you have saved if you had just listened? How many of your people died because of your _dumme_ stubbornness?"

Arthur snorted. "I've seen how you treat your guests. Greece, Norway, Belgium, Netherlands. All of them ran to _me_ , seeking shelter. And they told me. They told of the attrocious things you did to them and their people." Arthur's other hand slipped to his pistol. **_"I wasn't there last time, but I'm here now. I won't let you come near France."_**

"We'll see about zat, _dummkopf!_ " Ludwig charged, weilding in one hand a blood soaked knife. Did Arthur really bleed that much? The German pulled out his gun and shots fired.

England didn't bother dodging, not when there was still a chance that the bullet would hit France. "Francine, get out of here!"

 _"_ _Mais –!"_ She tried to protest. Arthur ignored the sob in her voice. Oh, he was going to make that bastard pay.

 _"_ _Ce ne fut pas une question. Aller!"_ Arthur blocked a knife attack, holding another with shakey hands. _"Je vais vous trouver plus tard!"_ Francine gave him one last longing look before running off somewhere behind him. Slash. Slash. Dodge. Attack. Dodge. Twist. Turn. Bang. Bang. Slash dodge. Attack. Slash. Bang! Bang! Bang! He waited until he couldn't see her anymore before swiftly shooting his knee upwards and slamming Ludwig down onto his knee.

The German crumpled into a gagging mess on the shredded floor of Paris.

Ludwig hacked, wheezed and Arthur watched the blood spurt out of his mouth. Arthur gave a triumphant huff. "That's what you get for underestimating an empire." The Brit stomped on Ludwig's head, effectively smashing it into the ashen ground. Just as the German had done to Arthur earlier, when the war had just started. "I'm not just some old man you can give a swift kick at the knees and watch him fall."

Arthur bent down close to Ludwig. He revelled in the trembling man below him. It served Germany right for all the pain he had caused. Not just to Arthur, but everyone. To the world. Somewhere in the back of his mind, England knew that he might have been acting a bit out of control, but he didn't care. He was sick of it. He was sick of putting on a strong, mature face for Parliament and for the American government. For pretending that he wasn't at all bothered by the fall of France. Arthur was sick and tired of pretending that he would end this war without any unnecessary violence.

To hell with that, he was the motherfucking British Empire and he'd be damned if he didn't make sure Ludwig knew **_never_** to touch Arthur's woman, **_ever again_**.

"You don't know just what you've gotten yourself into, do you, Ludwig?" Arthur chuckled darkly. "You're playing with fire and when you play with fire, **_you get burned_**. If you ever even think about coming near her ever again, I won't just kill you. I will make sure I do it slow and painfully. I will make sure that everything you ever did to her people in those camps of yours, are repayed with the upmost quality I can give you."

"Get off of your high horse!" Ludwig shouted, but it was muffled by the soil.

"Remember, Ludwig, I've lived for a _very_ **_very_** long time." Arthur smirked dragging the cold, metal pistol up to dirty mop of blonde hair. **_"And I know several ways to make you scream for death."_**

The bullet rang out. The blonde didn't make a sound and Arthur watched with a grim satisfaction as the blood seeped into the ground. Still.

"Y – You killed him…" Francine stuttered from behind him. Arthur flinched, as he'd forgotten she was there for a moment. She walked out from behind the cobblestone building, watching England with weary eyes.

"Only temporary. His body will regenerate somewhere in Berlin." The Brit looked at Ludwig. He'd thought he'd never feel so much hate in his soul after Rome. After the man who had killed his parents and forced him into a hundred years of slavery and torture. And yet, here he was. Arthur was ready to murder the young country below him. To really kill a nation was considered the worst deed anyone could ever commit among their kind.

Then again, so were bombings and mustard gas.

Germany was so young, only a little older than his own sons, Alfred and Matthew. He didn't care. England's leg drew back and kicked Ludwig's bloody face.

A disgusting snap crackled through the air.

Francine gasped, but she didn't back away. She had seen just as much bloodshed as Arthur. She didn't carry the bloodlust that Arthur did, despite being a little bit older than him. Francine had gone through many stages as an empire, as many as Arthur, and yet she still remained sane. There had been times, though, such as the first French Revolution and most of the Middle Ages.

England walked towards her, examaning.

Her dark blue dress was ripped up to her knee and tattered all throughout. _What had she been through?_ Arthur thought, looking at the mud and blood stains scattered about her body. _How many people did she fight to get here? How many men did she kill? How many people did she watch suffer? What did Germany do to her?_

But, most importantly to him, at that moment: "Are you scared of me?"

That question seemed to strike a cord in her. Francine's rich indigo eyes flooded with distrust. "Why are you asking me zat?"

England saw her flinch as he came closer and stopped. His body burned to rush forward and pull her into his arms. To take her away from that God forsaken place. To take her to his land and clean her up and feed her all her favorite food and to tuck her into a safe bed. In a safe place, far away from the madness of Europe. Being an island of succlustion did certainly have its perks.

But he couldn't do that to her.

He wouldn't force himself and his ideals on her. Instead, England kneeled onto the crusted land, head hanging. His bright green eyes clashed against her own. "I would never hurt you, you know that, right?" He watched the disbelief in her eyes. England knew there was nothing he could do. All he had the right to do was speak the deepest truth in his cold heart. "I could never hurt you. If you don't believe me, when was the last time I laid a finger on you in a harmful manner?"

She paused for a moment and then her eyes widened, "…Not since ze Hundred Year's war…"

"I never laid a finger on you, not in any of the Italian Wars; not in Nine Year's war; not in the succession wars; not in the American or French or Haitian revolutionary wars, or even your Napoleonic wars." Arthur said. "I have fought and killed your troops, but I have never once landed a hand on you. Why do you think that is?"

"Alfred and Matthew." France responded immediately.

England nodded. "And who do you think I've fought these two wars for, then?" He smirked. "Who did I continue to fight for when you had fallen, leaving me all alone?"

She seemed to relax a little, but the distrust didn't leave her eyes.

Arthur stood and moved towards her, taking one pale hand into his, gently. "Come with me to England. I know you'll never be as happy there as you would be here, but it's just until the end of the war. I can protect you there." He took a calloused hand and rubbed it across her dirty cheek. "I promise that I will protect you. From anything; be it Hitler, a spider, my brothers's advances, or night terrors. I will be your guardian." He was being uncharacteristically honest, wasn't he?

Francine looked up at Arthur, hesitantly smiling. Her hand reached up to the large, bleeding gash on his cheek. "Okay." She said, softly. "Okay."

 **Translations:**

 _Britannien_ = Britain.

 _Dumme =_ Dumb.

 _Dummkopf_ = Idiot.

 _Mais –!_ = But –!

 _Ce ne fut pas une question. Aller!_ = It wasn't a question. Go!

 _Je vais vous trouver plus tard!_ = I'll come find you later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi, guys! Sorry this took so long to upload, but it was a hectic day for me. AngelDemonPrankster, I hope you like it :)**

* * *

 **Red**

France x Fem! England

Requested by: _AngelDemonPrankster_

Alice was cursed.

Not by a wicked witch, but by a thin piece of string. Everyone had a string tied to their pinky. It was thin and looked delicate, but trying to break the scarlet string was impossible. If you cut off your finger, the string would simple appear on another, and so forth. It didn't matter where, you would never be able to get rid of your string unless you killed yourself. People rarely took that route. You and your soulmate were the only ones that could see the string.

Despite all the happy endings, not everyone was lucky. Some soulmates died before their partners, some fell in love with other people, some soulmates didn't last, some soulmates didn't want a soulmate, some soulmates had different sexual prefferences, etc.

Another thing, your soulmate string came with a black counterpart.

Many legends and tales have been written about the red and black strings. Countless novels and movies. Plays and poems. But no one ever wrote, or sung, or acted out the case that Alice had. She was the only one in the world with her curse. She rarely told anyone about it and most didn't believe her at first.

Alice glared down at her hand, the teacher's nasallily voice fading into the background.

The thin thread twisted around her pinky and finished with a small little bow. It was completely normal, with one catch: the red thread was intertwined with a similar black thread. The black string was the enemy string. The exact same concept of the red string applied to the enemy string, with the exception that the black string, well, led to your enemy.

Alice researched this subject. **_Obsessively._**

She knew more about the red and black strings of fate than some of the most profound and celebrated scientists and psychics of human history.

None of them ever said anything about your soulmate being your enemy.

When her parents first found out, her mother had burst into tears and repeatedly asked if Alice was absolutely sure. Alice's father had simply worn a grimace and told Alice that she didn't need her soulmate to be happy. Her parents died in a plane accident before Alice turned ten, making things tough for her and her siblings. Alistair was forced to quit college and focused on working a full-time job to support all of them. Dylan, Patrick, and Wilma all worked part-time jobs to also help out. Alice spent the next five years practically alone.

She would've been completely alone if it weren't for the twins that haved moved next door, Alfred and Madeline.

They became her younger siblings, basically. They spent all the time with each other. And Alfred was the came closest to Alice, when it came to soulmates. His enemy and soulmate string were tied on the same pinky, though they remained separate. But that was a case people had already solved. Alfred's destined one would either start out as an enemy and then grow into a soulmate, or his soulmate would turn into his enemy. It was rather common, actually. Madeline had no enemy string, though that wasn't surprising, with how sweet the girl was.

Upon her first year in high school, Alice met Kiku Honda, and they became quick friends. He introduced her into the world of yaoi, yuri, shipping, and OTPs, and anime. It was a bit weird at first, but soon Alice found not only her, but Alfred and Madeline also getting sucked into that world. Granted, Alice wasn't nearly as involved in that world as the other three were, but she understood the basic terms.

Of course, with best friends came enemies.

When Alice met Antonio for the first time, she was both aggitated and relieved that he wasn't her One. Because, bloody hell, how could anyone get any more annoying than that slimy fucker? Also, her soulmate was even more annoying than _Señor Dickface_. How that was even possible, she had no fucking clue, but somehow, somewhere, someone managed.

Alice was looking forward to meeting her soulmate about as much as she was to have sex with a slug. Knowing her luck, it'd probably be one in the same.

XXX

Alfred burst into her room, grinning like it was motherfreaking fourth of July.

"I … me-me-et… h-him." He panted. Alfred's eyes were lit up like those fireworks he so loved and one of the happiest smiles she had ever seen was plastered on his tan face. "His name's Ivan."

Alice's heart suddenly clentched in her chest but she ignored it. "That's awesome, Alfie." She smiled, genuinely feeling happy for her best friend. "I'm really happy for you." Alfred had enough time to give her a bone crushing hug and a very brief overview. Ivan Braginsky was Russian. Alfred and Ivan hated each other and fought all the time back in Alfred's home town, yet they had never realized the strings on each other's fingers since they were so young at the time. _Enemies to soulmates._ Alice had given a deep sigh of relief at that. She didn't know what she would do if Alfred's soulmate would later turn out to be his enemy.

The rest of the night, Madeline, Kiku, and Alice sent each other silly texts that detailed the planning of a "Singles Forever Club".

XXX

Kiku was the next to go, surprisingly.

He had met a Greek boy, Heracles Karpusi, at a cat café downtown. Kiku was happy. Shy and blushing like a bride on her wedding day, but happy. He'd need to be happy if he had to deal with the rest of Karpusi's crazy ass family. Karpusi had two soulmate strings, but the other soulmate had died. Karpursi hadn't even gotten to meet his other soulmate before he string had faded from red to gray, so he was protective of Kiku. The Japanese man pretended to hate it, but Alice knew that Kiku liked the attention, having grown up fairly ignored (due to his introverted nature, of course)

Alice and Madeline went out on a girls-only adventure to the ice cream parlor. They talked and laughed and threw ridiculous puns that only got funnier with the more sugar they digested. Later, when the sugar-high had faded away, Madeline had decided to sleep over at Alice's house. Madeline looked as depressed as Alice felt, so they watched some stomach-churning chick flicks (the things Alice did for Alfred and Maddie) until Maddie passed out.

Alice cleaned up the mess after putting Madeline in bed and tried not to think about what life would be like surrounded by only cats for company.

XXX

Alice should've seen it coming.

Madeline met her soulmate not five weeks later. He was a burly kind of guy and had transferred from Cuba. Alfred immediately hated Madeline's soulmate, but managed to try to ignore it for the most part. Now, all of her friends had soulmates. She was the only one left.

Even her siblings had managed to find soulmates of their own. Alistair was fucking engaged to a sweet Scandinavian woman who balanced out her older brother's temper. Dylan found out that his grumpy and quiet roommate was actually his soulmate. Patrick was secretly dating his boss and Wilma had found her soulmate on an online dating website through webcam.

Alice was alone.

No soulmate, no enemy, no one to spend the rest of her life with, and certainly no one to hear her sobs throughout the night.

XXX

In her second year of university, Alice had come to terms with the fact that she would die alone.

Alistair and his One had gotten married and now Alice had an adorable nephew (and there were twins on the way). Dylan was engaged. Patrick and his boss had moved in with each other, though they were equals in the workforce, now. Wilma and her One were busy travelling the world, enjoying their life without a care in the world. Even Alfred and Ivan were engaged. Alice knew that Carlos was planning to propose to Madeline soon, as he had asked Alfred and her for help with the rings. Kiku and Heracles were happy just living together in an apartment with their five cats.

She had one night stands frequently, but she didn't dare enter a relationship. Alice didn't want her heart trampled on anymore than it already was.

Alice was alone.

XXX

When Alice first saw him, the first thing that came to mind was _perfect_.

He was the new transfer student that everyone was talking about. Alice barely noticed how deeply her cheeks flushed as she watched on from behind a bookshelf. Soft, silky blond hair was messily tied back at his nape. His long bangs framed and hid parts of his face.

Alice leaned in closer, subconciously.

He had a small little stuble that was barely noticable. Deep, velvety eyes looked down intensely to the book that he was reading. The color was somewhere between sapphire and violet. Indigo, she later deduced. His long and smooth fingers flipped through the pages, his face absently flickering with emotions everytime something happened in the book.

He was perfect.

Alice's heart thudded in her chest, barely noticing how the string wrapped around her finger warmed at the soft pulsing of her string. She did the only thing she could think to do.

Alice ran.

XXX

Francis Bonnefoy.

A transfer student from Paris, studying Art and Theater. He came from a well off family, of which he was the sole heir to. He was notorious for his magnificent cooking and sex skills. Francis was a flirt and seemed to deeply enjoy his lifestyle. Alice had seen him around campus since then – and of fucking course, he was best friends with _Señor Dickface_ and the oldest of the Beilschmidt brothers.

Alice watched him go through four girlfriends and two boyfriends within the course of three weeks.

And he was happy. Francis seemed happy with his life. Maybe he didn't want a soulmate. It wasn't uncommon. And Alice knew that for people like them, it was obvious that someone would be paranoid when it came to meeting their One. Maybe that's how Alice would be his enemy. If she came crashing into his perfect life, demanding that he, as her soulmate, stopped all of the fun in his life for her…Alice knew that she'd hate it if anyone, let alone a soulmate, did that to her.

And so she ignored Francis and the want to talk to him, if just even once.

XXX

Because karma's a bitch, Alice found out the next semester that Francis was enrolled into her class.

The teacher introduced him to the class, but there was no need. Everyone knew who Bonnefoy was. There was a collective dreamy sigh throughout the classroom from both genders as the Frog gave a friendly smile. Alice wasn't one of them.

She did stare, however.

How could she have gotten such a perfect soulmate? He was smart, beautiful, friendly, great at cooking, rich, and a wonderful lover, appearantly. What sort of messed up god would've played such a prank on her and Francis?

Alice watched him carefully as she realized that Francis was starting to walk up the rows to find a seat. There was only one left: the row next to her.

Well, shit.

Alice panicked, looking around. She couldn't fucking deal with this. Not right now and probably never. She didn't even notice Francis coming closer to her until he stood right in front of her.

"Eh, excuse me, could I sit 'ere?"

Alice's face shot up. Her eyes met his. _He has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen._

"Are you all right –?" Francis stopped, cutting his own sentence off with a startled gasp. He was looking at her hand. "You…"

"Shit." Alice hissed, her hand flinching away from Francis as if his gaze had burned her hand. The string was pulsing a bright burn, glowing, in the eyes of her and Francis. The two soulmates barely even registered the rest of the class staring at them. Alice watched Francis' eyes widened. Oh, no. Oh, shit. Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit. She fucked up! She fucked up real bad.

Alice's hand struck out for her bag and then she bolted, ignoring Francis' calls for her to stop.

XXX

Alice knew she couldn't stay on campus when she heard rumors that Francis Bonnefoy found his soulmate and was looking for her.

So, she left on a temporarily leave and hastily packed up to return to her hometown. As soon as Maddie heard that Alice was coming home (unexpectedly), the girl texted Alice and offered her a place to stay. Alice took it, which was when Alfred, Kiku, and Madeline knew for sure that _something had to be wrong_ for Alice to accept help so easily.

The English woman barely had any time to unpack her things before Madeline had dragged her to that ice cream parlor from all those years ago. Alfred and Kiku were there, waiting. Alfred had already downed about three bowls of ice cream and Kiku hadn't even ordered, yet.

"What. Happened." Alfred was the first one to start grilling her, unsurprisingly.

Alice looked down at her clamy hands, fidgeting. "I met him."

Kiku's head shot up and Madeline's jaw dropped. _"Your soulmate?!"_

The English woman nodded.

"You said that you didn't have one!" Alfred gaped at her.

Alice fidgeted. No backing out of this one. "Ali, why did you lie?" Madeline put her hand on Alice's and her voice was soft. Oh, Maddie. Sweet, kind Maddie.

"I didn't technically say anything about whether or not I had a soulmate." She paused.

 _"_ _Detarame."_ Kiku said, glaring.

Alice glared right back at him. "Shut it, Honda. You have it easy."

"Igiko?" Alfred asked.

Why he even called her that, Alice had no damn idea. "You know how your strings are on the same finger?"

Alfred nodded absently. "Yeah, so what?"

"I only have one string." Her friend's eyes widened. Having one string was almost as rare as having no string.

"Like me?"

"But…" Alice bit her lip.

"But?" Kiku raised an eyebrow.

"It's black _and_ red."

XXX

He found her.

Alice didn't know how, but he did. Her heart pounded through her chest. It roared in her ears, scattering her thoughts. Why was he here?! What did he want with her?

Alice tore her way through the rain, running. Running and panting and hoping to god that Francis would just give up.

Francis' voice called out her. "Come back, please!"

Her heart stuttered at the sound of his voice. "Just leave me alone!"

"I won't!" He stubbornly replied, voice slightly muffled by the rain. "I've chased you across ze world, what makes you zink I'm going to give up when you're a few feet away from me?"

It was true.

It's been a year since their paths first crossed at the University. Alice has been running from him for a year, never staying in one place too long. Never settling in a permanent home. Madrid, Barcelona, Venice, Panama, Morocco, Nigeria, Mongolia, practically all the "stans", Sri Lanka, Guana, even fucking Tristan de Cunha.

And all for what?

Nothing. It was for nothing. Alice was just a coward. A coward too scared to turn the other way and face the one she was destined to be with, for better or for worse. Fate was a cruel bitch. There was no sense in Alice running. She knew, somewhere very deep in the back of her mind (Or was it heart? Did it even matter?), that eventually, Francis would catch her.

But then what?

Alice supposed maybe that's what was the scariest aspect to her. She doesn't know what to do in a relationship. Yeah, she's seen the stupid movies, but that means nothing. Alice doesn't know how to love; not in the way Francis needs. Sex is one thing, but the emotional support…Alice can hardly support herself. She not good with emotions and, if she's learned anything about her One, it's that he's an emotional person.

She's slowed down while she was thinking, but she doesn't realize until Francis' hand yanks her back to him.

Their eyes meet. Green and indigo. Francis' eyes are glistening with triumph and something she didn't expect to see in her wildest dreams…Hope. And in his bright eyes, she can see her reflection. Alice can see just how scared and desperate she looks in Francis' eyes. Just the thought makes her blush in emberassment.

"Let go of me." A harsh plea, barely a whisper.

 _"_ _Non."_ Francis says, but it sounds like his own plea. "I won't let you leave again. Not wizout you giving me a good explanation as to why you're rejecting me."

The words sting, but Alice know's that he's right. "I don't want a soulmate."

Francis flinched. Alice tries to convince herself that it's the rain. "Why?"

"I don't need one." She hisses back, trying to yank her arm away from his hold.

"Zen what do you need?" Francis' grip tightens. "I'll give it to you. Anyzing."

She snarls at him. "I couldn't give two shits about you or your damn money!"

Her One's eyes soften. "It doesn't have to be money. Cuddling, touch, food, books, attention, a shoulder. A home, maybe? Somewhere to sleep wizout having to feel restless or afraid."

Alice flinches away. "I don't care! I don't want any of it. And I most certainly don't want to be matched up with you, of all people."

"You're lying."

"This doesn't bother you at all?" Alice held up the cursed string in the air, knuckles white.

"Not as much as ze fact zat my One refuses to even be around me longer zan two minutes."

"You don't want me as a soulmate."

Francis glares. "Zat'll be for me to decide. And I've decided, fuck ze damn string, we can make zis work."

Alice shivered. She didn't know how much she wanted to hear those words until they drifted into the air, sizzling with some hidden passion. "How? We're enemies!"

"And soulmates." Francis said. "So what if we have to work harder zan ozers do? I don't care! You're my soulmate, whezer you like it or not." Softly, Francis began to tug on the scarlet and obsidian string, dragging Alice closer to him. "I want to love you. I want to show you ze butterflies someone feels when zey're happy. I want to make you blush. I want to make you safe. I want to give you everyzing in zis world. I want to make you happy. I want to hold you and kiss you. I want to wake up in ze morning wiz you by my side. I want to make you love me so much zat you wouldn't leave me, even when surrounded wiz an oppurtunity at every corner."

Alice's tears mingled with the rain. "I don't know how to love. Not like you need or want. I know nothing."

"I don't eizer." Francis' bright smile made her heart stutter out of place. "We can teach each ozer, _oui_?" He continued, "At least, zat's what I want. And considering zat you've told me everyzing except for what you want..." His words drifted into the air, an unspoken question in them.

Alice bit her lip, trying not to look away from his intense gaze. "…I …I d-don't want to be… lon-lonely anymore."

The most brilliant smile spread onto that idiot's face. "Neizer do I."

 **Translations:**

 _Señor Dickface =_ Mister Dickface.

 _Detarame._ = Bullshit.

 _Non. =_ No.

 _Oui_ = Yes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Whew. I just had my violin auditions yesterday, and I am so glad that the pressure is off. I don't know if I got in (probably won't know for 1-2 weeks), but I feel like I did my best, which is all I needed to do. Anyways, here's the next installment of Love is a Noun!**

* * *

 **Assignment (Part 1)**

France x England

Arthur sat in the corner of the room, eyes burning as he watched the young King move through the ballroom.

 _Graceful_ was the first word that had come to mind when he had laid eyes on the King of Prias. The second one that came immediately afterwords was _God-damn-fucking-idiot_. Arthur Kirkland had worked in the Assassins' Guild ever since he was a child, sold by slavery. He couldn't remember anything before the Guild. Nothing good, at least. Arthur could only remember red, the color of fire and blood. Arthur still remembered the screaming and crying that had resonated throughout his village the day that he was taken, like so many other children, to the Black Market.

Arthur had been four years old. He was sold from slave owner to slave owner. He never showed any sort of obedience. Arthur was a wild child. He bit anyone within reach and clawed at anyone who dared to even try to come near him. Arthur trusted no one and his only goal was to escape.

Until he met his final owner: Lord Romulus Vargas.

The man had been the darkest Arthur had ever met. Lord Vargas constantly wore a smile and was known for being a womanizer. To normal society, he was a cheerful, flippant man who had five sons. In the Underground, however, he was the head of a rutheless assassin training empire. And he had taken a special interest in Arthur. Romulus had bought Arthur only a year after he had been thrown into the Underground. Romulus had seen Arthur fight in arena against seven other children his age.

Romulus had seen potential in Arthur and had bought him that very day, under the sizzling sun.

Arthur hated Romulus. He was cruel and a madman. He took in children – all under the age of ten – and trained them to kill. To kill without a second thought. Romulus made it his job to break the spirit of the children. To make them _want_ to kill.

Arthur killed Romulus.

Since then, Arthur had risen to the top of not just the top assassin Guild of Eporue. But that wasn't all. He was one of the world's deadliest assassins and the youngest to hold that title. He had started out with simple jobs: kill my in-law, kill my wife, kill the tyrant lord, kill the tax collector, kill the baron. And slowly his jobs escalated.

Arthur was killing Kings, Queens, Church officials, and Prime Ministers daily, now.

Arthur hated killing people. But if he wasn't the one to kill the said victim, another assassin would be hired to do the job, instead. He might as well get paid. Because of Romulus, Arthur didn't even feel any regret as his blade dug into the throat of a Target. _So why the fucking hell did he care so much about this Target?_

Simple: King Francis was dancing with a woman of a particular bust size, completely unaware that she was an assassin.

How fucking stupid was this King and how had he not been killed, yet?

Arthur watched the woman and analysed. _Blonde, bubbly, ginormous tits that could be mistaken for sacks of flour, and a terrible impression of a French accent._ It took him a millisecond to recognize the woman as Yekaterina Braginski, older sister of Ivan Braginski. The Braginski siblings were famous for their seemingly innocent demeanor – with the exception of the youngest, Natalia Braginski – which hid a dark side to them. Ivan Braginski himself had earned the title "General Winter", Yekaterina was "Ice Queen", and Natalia was "Princess of Knives".

He had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting the General and Princess.

However, despite Yekaterina holding such a malicious title, Arthur knew first hand that she was simply a duntz who was good with farming tools. Natalia and Ivan were far more formidable and competent, so why weren't they the ones here? Arthur had already surveryed the guest list and the room.

There were only five more assassins there, besides Arthur: Vash Zwingli; from Switzerland, famous for his use of firearms; Yekaterina Braginski, Ukrainian and both famous and infamous for her bust; Kiku Honda, a quiet Japanese man who usually did sniper jobs; Abel Morgens, from the Netherlands and has a bad smoking habit – _It briefly occurred to Arthur that he had slept with Morgens' sister in a one-night stand and should probably stay away from Morgens_ – and the infamous Elizabeta Héderváry, who was mostly just known for her frying pan from Hell and her beauty.

Arthur had his work cut out for him.

It appeared that everyone else yet to notice him, that was good. He smirked. Both Zwingli and Honda hadn't yet noticed Arthur. He sniggered. And the two prided themselves on being the best eyes of the Assassin world. Arthur sobered, sharp green eyes settling on the giggling Yekaterina.

It was interesting.

The King had four highly skilled and dangerous assasins after him – plus Yekaterina – after him. Not to mention Arthur, but he was in a league of his own. Everyone knew that. The king hadn't done anything different from usual, as far as Arther knew, and yet he had six people (at least) after his head. The flirtarious King of Prias should've been dead by then, so why wasn't he?

There was more to this man than he let on, Arthur decided. And it seemed that all the other assasins were underestimating King Francis.

Arthur's head shot up as the King and Yekaterina moved across the ballroom and to a secluded section away from the crowds. Scratch what he just thought about the king having any brains. _Did this King not have any fucking guards or what? How could he trust a woman so easily, just because her jugs were bigger than the party's punch bowl?_ The other assasins moved, rushing after her and the King. God damn it.

They were closing in, already.

He looked down at his champagne glass and sighed. Oh, well. He didn't particularly like champagne, anyway. Arthur didn't move, not yet. He would wait until they were all gone. Arthur had gotten this far without anyone noticing him. He didn't need to cause an uproar of panic. He was well-known among the world of the nobles as someone to be afraid of. Arthur adjusted his black and red mask. Thank God it was a masquerade ball.

Arthur drifted through the crowds, unnoticed, like smoke.

He headed the opposite direction that the other assasins had. Maybe the others had looked at it briefly just to plan their entrance and escape. Arthur had trained photographic memory, so he knew the entire layout of the chateau to an obsessive level.

He walked up a black, swirling staircase, moving quickly. No one noticed him. Arthur reached the bottom of the second level, immediately taking a right turn. The King had most likely taken Yekaterina to the sun room just down the long hallway. It was a secluded room that breached out to the rose maze garden.

"How ridiculous," Arthur muttered with gritted teeth. If his Target got himself killed before Arthur did it, he sweared to the Devil that he would use necromancy on King Francis and then kill the stupid man.

Arthur had a reputation to keep and he'd be damned if he let some floosy destroy that.

Arthur took two more left turns before reaching another set of stairs that lead upwards _. Ah, the balcony._

Arthur climbed up the stairs before reaching the white marble balcony. Good. It was clear of any couple sticking their tongues down each other's throats. Arthur looked down, eyes adjusting to the dark. He spotted the king and Yekaterina. Honda, Zwingli, Morgens, and Héderváry were scattered about the garden, hiding in discreet places. He nearly burst out laughing. The fools were too damned worried about the king to even notice each other, let alone Arthur.

Arthur grinned like a cheshire cat. He shifted to a more comfortable seating on the railing of the balcony. "This should be fun."


	7. Chapter 7

**'Sup! How have you guys been? I got into the Youth Orchestra (as you've probably heard about like a million times on Tumblr) and I'll be starting in mid August! I'm in 2nd Violins, btw. Anyway, here's part 2 for Profession and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 **Profession (Part 2)**

Fem!France x Fem!England

To say that Alice hated coffee would be an understatement.

The dark liquid could never seem to make up its mind. It was either the most bitter, disgusting thing that ever passed your lips, or going to give you type two diabetes in one sip. To her, coffee was one of the great mistakes of the world.

Well, besides genocide, global warming, and reality TV.

Alice watched in sick amusement as the French woman in front of her squirmed uncomfortably. She had recognized the woman almost immediately this morning, though clearly not the same could be said for Francine. Oh, yes. This was going to be fun. "Tell me, Ms. Bonnefoy," She took her seat, giving Francine her coldest, blankest stare. "What in the world are you doing in New York, looking for a job as a _secretary_ of all things? Surely, your Father hasn't cut you off, yet."

Francine flinched, daring to look up at Alice. Interesting. "I'm not someone who leeches off of her parents' funds, zank you very much." The Frenchwoman paused. "Wait, 'ow did you know about my Fazer?"

Alice waved a dismissive hand. "I have background checks done on all of my potential employees."

"Is zat even legal?" Francine gawked at the Brit.

"Unless logging onto Facebook is a crime nowadays, no."

Francine relaxed slightly. "All you did was – _Wait, what?_ "

"Honestly, are we going to do this all day?" Alice rolled her eyes. This one was a bit slow, wasn't she? "You'd be surprised by what you can learn about a person just by looking at their social media."

Suddenly, every college party picture that was taken of her flashed through Francine's mind.

Alice noticed. She gave a soft chuckle, leaning in a bit closer to Francine. The woman may have been French and a bit of a ditz, but she was exceedingly fun to mess with. "So…" Alice gave a somewhat dark grin. "What's a girl like you doing in a City like this?"

Francine snorted. "I'm pretty sure zat I am older zan you, _Madame_." She continued, trying not to notice how close Alice was getting. "I don't want to live off of my family's money. I want to make my own mark in zis world, by myself."

Alice noticed how Francine was trying to hide her gaze from her, but she spoke defiantly. She squirmed slightly, her legs shifting. Alice smirked at that. The French were always so horny. But still, Francine hadn't jumped her, yet. That was something. That meant she was holding herself back. It meant that she had really wanted the job.

Very interesting.

"And you plan to do that by answering phone calls and tracking my meetings?" Alice raised an eyebrow. "I'll admit, the pay is good, but it's not exactly a position with promotions."

Francine shook her head. "I'm an artist. I like to draw, paint, anyzing. I came to New York so zat I could become a Professional Artist."

"So, you're saying that you won't have your job as first priority?"

She flushed. _"Non, non!"_ Alice fought to keep her smirk down. She was almost too easy to tease. "I will put my job first, I promise you."

"Well, you're honest." Alice muttered. Honesty was good. Alice valued honesty. She may have been the CEO of one of the greatest technological firm empires in the modern world, but that didn't mean she was anything like her competition. Alice was far from their level. They had been given everything they could ever want on a silver platter. They were snobbish and rude. They couldn't care less about their employees, except for suing. All of the rich society that she had met had been like that, in at least two respects.

And yet, here was this woman in front of her. The Frenchwoman had left her life of luxury so that she could make her own mark on the world, when she could have easily have done that from the comfort of her home in Paris. She treated Alice with respect, despite having been yelled at and teased by her.

Strange. Very strange, indeed.

Alice stood from her chair and moved to the one right next to Francine's. She was two centimeters from the other woman's arm. Alice could practically slice through the Frenchwoman's nervousness with a cheese knife. "Tell me, Ms. Bonnefoy, are you in a relationship with anyone?"

She stuttered, flushing brightly. "I – I don't see – see 'ow zat would be important, ma'am."

"On the contrary," Alice lowered her voice until it was husky. She leaned in close to Francine. This was much too fun. "it is _very_ important to me."

A squeak escaped the other woman and Alice moved away slightly, smirking lightly.

"You see, I can't simply have you forgetting your duties as a secretary for some hanky panky, now can I?" She stood from the chair.

"H – H – Hanky p – panky?" Francine stuttered, redder than Alice's suit.

"That's what my last secretary was fired for. I had planned to fire her later, anyway, though. She was terribly forgetful. I hadn't picked her, of course. It was my stupid brother's fault. He likes busty women." The Brit shrugged. "So, are you single or not?"

"S – Single, ma'am."

Alice gave a low hum. "Very, well. It's settled."

Francine's head shot up. _"What?"_

"You have the job, if you want it." Alice said, helping Francine up. The Frenchwoman took the hand, flushing at the contact. How adorable.

"Because I'm single?" Francine looked at her, aghast.

Alice shrugged, "Partially."

 ** _"_** ** _Zen I refuse."_**

The British woman only smirked. Perfect. "And mostly because of that."

"Huh?"

Alice tilted her head, looking at Francine with faux innocent eyes. "What ever could you mean? You have all the technical qualifications of a secretary, so the nessicary part is covered. You're honest and from what I can tell, hardworking. That's also good. I don't hire anyone unless they have those traits." She continued, taking pleasure in the Frenchwoman's blush. "Your bust is a huge plus, too."

 _"_ _Excusez-moi!"_ Francine gaped at her.

"What!" Alice mocked the Frenchwoman.

"Y – You like women?" Francine settled on that question first.

Alice raised an eyebrow. She already knew from looking at Francine's Facebook profile with a certain amount of scrutiny that the said woman was a pansexual. "I'm bisexual, though I generally prefer women. Can't say I've ever slept with a Frenchwoman before."

"Ms. Kirkland, zis conversation is hardly…"

The British woman gave another smirk. "I'm just teasing you. I won't be forcing you to sleep with me to keep your job, or anything." She groaned, looking down at her buzzing phone. "What is it, Alfred? I'm in the middle of an interview, right now. It better be important."

"Is it the busty French one?" Alfred's voice crackled over the phone.

"You already have a girlfriend."

His obnoxious laugh burst over the phone. "I take it it's going well, then?" Alfred slowed down on the laughing. "Anyway, there's been a slight change in plans with the Labor Union. They've changed the meeting date, **_again_**."

Alice's breath hissed between her teeth. "Those little sons of bitches." She glanced back at Francine with a slight frown. "Fine. I'll be there in ten. Call me a taxi. Let Johnson know that when I get there, I'm going to rip him a new one right in front of all his snivelling little groupie."

There was Alfred's laugh again. "I'll let him know you're angry." The line went dead.

Alice turned back to the Frenchwoman, who had a confused look on her face. Alice took Francine's hand into her own and bent down to kiss the pale skin. "Until next time, Ms. Bonnefoy. I do look forward to your call." And then she whisked out of the office, leaving a dazed and blushing woman behind her.

 **Translation:**

 _Madame_ = Madame.

 _Non, non!_ = No, no!


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi, once again. So, there's been a few changes since last week. I've gotten a lot more organized, but at the expense of my writing time. Elricsgurl, sorry, but your one-shot will have to wait until next time. I've finished most of it, and I could probably post it now, but it hasn't been edited and I'm not satisfied. It wouldn't be fair to you if I posted a half-assed one-shot.**

 **Anyways, everything has been sorted out now and I've got a plan all the way up to the 1st week of January.**

* * *

 **Message (Part 1)**

Fem!France x England

It all started with a flower.

She met him when they had just been children. She had run off into her family's garden after arguing with her father for some stupid reason that she no longer remembered, nor cared about. Francine had torn the ivy covered, crumbling part of the garden that no one would ever go to. Hidden by the bright green plants and broken pavilion, she sobbed and cried to her heart's content. About five minutes later, a little boy crawled in from the crumbling entrance.

He was scruffy, to say at the very least. His blonde hair was in a mess, bits of mud and twigs and plants stuck inside. The little boy, who only looked about a year or so younger than her, watched her with bright curious eyes. Shiny, green eyes, like that of the emeralds on her mother's jewelry.

"What are you doing here?" Francine had demanded with a boogery hiss. "Go away!" But the boy didn't move. Instead, he held out a small bouquet of some sort of flowers that she didn't recognize. She had let out a snarl. "I don't want your pity!" And then smacked them out of his hands, running off back into the manor.

Two weeks later, after Francine had finally ended her lessons with her boring old tutor, she sat in her room, staring at a vase of the same white bouquet of flowers that the little boy had offered her. She knew it was him, somehow. And the more time she spent by the window, the more she noticed him. "Lilian?" Francine had asked.

"Yes, M'Lady?" The older maid had curtsied to her politely.

 _The boy hadn't done that_ , she thought longingly. "Who is zat boy down zere?" Francine pointed outside to the boy working in the gardens. He always seemed to be in the gardens.

Lilian looked out the window before turning back to Francine with a smile. "That's Arthur Kirkland, M'Lady." The old woman gave a mournful look. "His family died in a fire a few years ago. He was the only survivor, but at a cost. He lost his ability to speak permanently, after the fire did something to his lungs. The poor lad, he can only communicate with sign language."

 _Or flowers,_ Francine glanced at the vase once again. She remembered her mother saying something about how flowers had hidden meanings. "Lilian, go get me zat one book, please. Ze one wiz ze flower translations."

And she had translated the flowers.

Daisy: _Innocence; loyal love; I'll never tell._ The last one struck a cord in her. Slowly, she began to feel that giddy feeling that could only be described as being a secret-keeper. No one ever told Francine anything, let alone secrets. Heather, white: _Protection; wishes will come true._ She frowned slightly, but continued. Hyacinth, pink: _Play._ Hyacinth, purple: _I am sorry; please forgive me; sorrow._

Rose, yellow: _Friendship._

Francine felt her heart nearly leap out of her chest. He wanted to be friends! The widest grin in the world spread across her small face. She raced down to the kitchen as fast as her tiny little legs could carry her. She had to fix this. "Mary, can you teach me how to make macaroons?"

The next day, Francine went to the same, crumbled hideout that she had met Arthur at. She fidgeted nervously. She had told a servant to tell him to come to the stone pavilion. But would he? She had been terrible to him that one time. If she was Arthur, she would never come. But he had been sending her bouquets of those flowers for two weeks straight, so it meant that he still wanted to be friends with her, right?

 _…_ _Right?_

Someone cleared their throat from behind her and Francine whipped around to see Arthur. She squeaked a little. "H – Hello, Arzur." He seemed to beam a little at the use of his name. Francine swallowed whatever bits of fear were circling in her mind. "Here." She practically shoved a bag of macaroons, tied with a lace bow, into his hands. Tied to the bag of macaroons were two flowers. Peony: _Shame_ and a yellow Rose: _Friendship._

The largest and brightest grin she had ever seen on a person spread across Arthur's face. He nodded vigorously and Francine felt like flying.

XXX

Five years later, Arthur had stolen her first kiss.

But could she really say it was stolen, when she had wanted it to be taken?

The sat under the stone pavilion, eating the tuna fish sandwiches that Francine had made. They had that sort of friendship. Everyday, or whenever they could, the two would meet at the pavilion bringing flowers and food. They would dash around the garden and play, giggling and screeching playfully. Francine complained about being an heiress and her father almost daily. Arthur didn't seem to mind, smiling softly and nodding when needed.

But this time, it was different.

"Can you believe him, Artie?!" She nearly screamed. She hadn't brought any treats to eat that day. She was too busy fuming at her father to remember her part of the deal. "A boarding school! Of all ze zings, a boarding school! In Canada, no less."

Arthur frowned and made a motion with his hands. _How long will you be gone?_

Francine's chest clenched. Arthur had no other friends beside her. On one hand, she didn't want him to be lonely, but on the other, she refused to be replaced by anyone else. "I don't know…" She and Arthur didn't miss how her voice crumpled. "Artie, do you promise to always be my friend, no matter what happens?"

Arthur smiled softly, taking her hand in his. He nodded simply, watching as their fingers laced together. He nodded off somewhere into the garden, leading Francine away from the pavilion. She let him lead her away. Arthur didn't move far, taking a simple flower from the greenhouse garden. Sweat pea: _Good-bye; Departure; Blissful Pleasure; Thank You for a Lovely Time._ A yellow Zinnia: _Daily Remembrance._ Azalea: _Take Care of Yourself for Me._ Bells of Ireland: _Good Luck._

The tears were dribbling from her eyes before she knew it. _"How can you be so calm about zis?!"_ Francine sniffled, looking away from Arthur's wide eyes. "…I don't want to be separated from you."

She felt her hand be squeezed and spared a glance at Arthur.

That was all he had needed to swoop down and place a kiss on her lips. It was quick and messy, but even then Francine had felt the butterflies. "Arzur, you…"

And then he gave her one simple flower, a red Tulip. _A declaration of love._ She felt herself go red. Arthur smiled and made a variety of hand motions. _I'll wait for you._ A lump formed in her throat and she didn't trust herself to make any stupid decisions. Instead, she nodded and kissed his cheek before running away.

Francine didn't have the courage to tell him that she was leaving that night.

XXX

It was another five years before she finally returned to the manor.

Francine didn't even bother going into the manor or even to greet the servants. She bolted just after the carriage stopped. Barely. She ran straight to the pavilion, not caring that she had ripped her dress or that she was caking herself in mud. Arthur. Arthur was the only thing on her mind. He had been the only thing on her mind for five years.

She clutched the Ambrosia flower in hand, practically destroying the poor flower.

Francine stopped abruptly, her heart catching in her throat. There, under the shade of a half crumbled pavilion, was a boy. No, not a boy. A man. His disheveled blonde hair reached to his neck's nape. He was sleeping, not even making a sound. Francine traced every feature of him. The curve of his jaw, the point of his nose, the absent furrow of his somewhat thick brows. He was fit, probably from all the labor work in the garden. Arthur was smudged in dirt, but he looked peaceful.

For a moment, Francine was so torn between running away and running to him.

He was so handsome. Arthur probably, no, definitely, had a lover. He had probably forgotten all about her. She trembled slightly, tears threatening to spill over. What if he had been faking it? What if she was just some silly childhood crush to him? What if he had never loved her?

She stumbled backwards, landing on her rump. Francine didn't bother getting up. This was too much. She couldn't handle this. She thought she could, but she couldn't. Francine looked down with blurry eyes, watching her hands tremble loosely around the Ambrosia flower.

 _Returned love._

It had taken her a solid year before she finally decided that what she was feeling for Arthur was in fact love. The other four years had only been worse and worse after that. The constant ache of being away from your loved ones. This was the first time she had felt it. Her mother died when she was just a child, and was always too sick to see her before that. Francine hated her father and she knew that he, in return, felt the same way towards her.

Arthur was the only person she had ever loved and she knew it would destroy her if he didn't feel the same.


	9. Chapter 9

**Well, well, well...I forgot what I was going to say. Anyways, here's a cute little one shot that I had so much fun writing (not a request, sorry) and I hope you guys will like it.**

* * *

 **Drawing**

France x Fem!England

"How much longer, Frog?"

Francis would've chuckled if it wasn't for the fact that that was the fifteenth time Alice had asked that question. "Shut it, _rosbif_." His brush glided smoothly along the canvas, leaving a smooth trail of maroon.

"That's not a very nice way to treat your models." Alice shot back.

He glanced at her, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. Francis' girlfriend of five years and childhood friend sat on the chaise lounge, pale skin clashing against the dark maroon velvet. She wore her black concert dress, which hugged in all the right places and didn't exposing too much skin. Her rich brown violin sat against her hip, held up by her hand. Her other hand held her violin bow, resting it against her lap. Alice's hair had been done up in a graceful side bun, a few curls escaping and framing her face. She had even taken off her glasses and had put on the pearls her Mother had given her for her fifteenth birthday.

Somehow, Francis had accomplished it.

He had finally convinced her to pose for one of his portraits. Granted, it had taken him longer to convince her to pose for the painting than it had for him to get Alice to go on a date with him. And that had taken him five years. She was the only one that ever denied going out on a date with him. Every other girl jumped at the chance, that is if they weren't already chasing after him. It had just been something to check off of his bucket list, at first. Francis was already in too far by the time he realized that it wasn't simply a game, anymore.

"How much longer?" Alice asked once again.

"Give me a moment," Francis groaned at her. "I 'ave to finish ze details on ze violin and zen I'll touch your bust a little, so it doesn't look completely look like an ironing board."

He expected her to jump up in rage, but instead, she kept quiet. But not for long, unfortunately. "At least it's not your dick we're painting. It would take longer to paint your thumb." Alice shot back. You could hear the devious smirk in her voice.

The brush paused above the canvas. _"Excusez-moi?"_ Her laughter filled the room and his anger deflated, even though it was at his expense. It often was, honestly. " _Oui, oui._ It would take a long time." The studio settled into silence again.

Alice Kirkland was both a famous writer, and a violinist for the Paris orchestra.

Long ago, when they had first started dating, Alice had sent in the manuscript of her first book. Several offers flooded in, specifically an offer to Alice by a famous American publisher. They had offered her some amount of money for her book. Alice never told anyone how much money it was, but it had been a large sum, obviously. The only hitch was that the company asked for her to come to New York as part of the deal. Another hitch was that Francis was heading the opposite direction: Paris.

Francis could remember the months that he had spent in suspense. He thought that she would choose New York. After all, they hadn't even been dating for a year, yet, and he couldn't even afford a quality apartment. He had spent that whole time trying to prepare himself for the fact that the love of his life was leaving him. He had been miserable. More than he ever thought he could be. More than he thought would effect him.

It was a choice between becoming the richest author of the year or following her deadbeat boyfriend to a country that she disliked. Alice chose Francis.

It was amazing and Francis constantly found himself asking how in the whole wide universe he managed to be lucky enough to be with Alice. That was why he had to make this moment perfect. For her. And for his pride as a Frenchman.

He leaned back and inspected the canvas. Finished. Francis took a deep breath and examined that one section of the painting. This was it. He was really doing it. _"D'accord, je l'ai terminé. Vous pouvez déplacer, maintenant."_

Alice let out a grateful groan. "Finally. I thought I was going to be sitting here forever!" She stood, slowly. She bent her back, sighing. "God, I'm sore."

"Already?" Francis asked, giving her a slightly lewd smile. "We haven't gone to bed, yet."

He watched as she turned as red as the chaise lounge. "Shut up, Frog." Alice started to walk out of the room. "I'm going to put this away and then let's go out to dinner."

Francis nodded, swallowing his nervousness. "Yeah, sure. How does that restaurant down the road sound? The Basque one." Alice called back a muffled reply, but Francis wasn't paying attention.

What if she said no? What if she decided that she actually wasn't ready? Or worse, what if she didn't want to... with him? Francis sighed, rubbing his face. _"Vous pouvez le faire, Francis. Vous ferez cela."_ He looked down, inspecting his clothes. Oh, crap. He was still wearing his stained, frog apron.

Yes, he had a frog apron.

It was a gift from Alice for his last birthday. Francis quickly undid the strings and out of nervousness, folded the cloth and placed it neatly on the table nearby.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. _"Flawless, comme d'habitude."_ Francis encouraged himself, but there was no heart in it.

"You said the Basque restaurant, yeah?" Alice came out of the bedroom. She had changed into a jeans and that shirt. _His_ red plaid shirt.

Francis nodded, swallowing. A sense of courage seemed to flash in him. Now or never. "Actually, I zink I messed up ze portrait a bit."

Alice frowned at him. " _You_ messed up a painting? What's wrong?"

"Well, when I say 'messed up', I mean more of a happy accident." Francis backpedaled quickly. "I actually like ze painting better zis way, but you should come check it out."

The British woman's confused face stayed. "A happy accident?" Then she paused. "Why do you want me to check it out? You're the artist; if you're happy with the painting, then keep it."

God, she made it sound so easy. She made him sound so foolish. "Please? And, no, Alice, it cannot wait until after dinner."

Alice gave him an exasperated sigh, stomping over to the painting. "…I don't see anything?"

With clammy hands, Francis took her other hand and shifted it downwards to the painting Alice's hand that was holding the violin against her hip. "Right zere." He put her finger on the hand of painting Alice. On the hand, wrapped around the ring finger was a bright band with an emerald practically glowing from the painting.

He watched her reaction with the most critical gaze.

Alice's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She immediately looked over at Francis with wide eyes. "…What is this?"

He smiled nervously and shifted a little, getting down on one knee. Francis took out a small black box from his back pocket. He watched as Alice's pink lips trembled slightly. _"Alice, vous êtes la seule chose que je voulais vraiment. Il se sent comme la folie, parce qu'il n'y a pas de sens à elle et rien que la douleur et la beauté de toutes les formes. À vrai dire, je vais toujours veux vous. Jusqu'à ce que chaque soleil devient sombre dans chaque ciel, jusqu'à ce que je ne suis rien de plus que de la poussière cosmique longtemps oublié, je vous veux. Et même alors, dans tout le néant, persisteront le désir."_

He paused, seeing her bright green eyes water.

"Will you marry me?" Francis watched her hesitate for a moment and flinched. She opened her mouth again, tears now flowing freely from her eyes. "Shh!" He stopped her out of reflex. He felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest, for better or for worse. Francis looked up with his own set of watery eyes. "I don't want you to say anyzing. Zere is only so much happiness or grief my heart can contain. If its a yes, hold me. If its a no, stay as we are now."

Alice gave a boogery laugh, glancing at the ring briefly with the sweetest smile Francis had ever seen in his life. She threw her arms around him. "You fucking moron. Do you really think anyone could handle all of your drama besides me?" The love of his life snuggled into him, holding him tightly. As if he'd disappear if she wasn't holding him tight enough to the point of strangulation. He didn't mind. Not really. _"Comment pourriez-vous même penser une seconde que je dirais non? Ne doutez pas de mon amour pour toi jamais, comprendre?"_

Francis felt as though he was going to explode of happiness. _"Oui, je comprends."_ He returned the tight embrace. They sat there for a long time until the sun started to disappear. Francis looked out the window. "I'm afraid zat ze restaurant is probably closed right now, _chéri_."

Alice smirked down at him and his heart thudded against his chest once more. "I say we just stay inside and call for a pizza, _futur époux_."

His heart thundered so much that he couldn't even process what he was thinking right then. "Just so you know, I want _trente_ children." Francis had expected her to blush brightly and scold him with a shy smile on her face.

Instead, she leaned in even closer until her lips brushed against his ear. "Guess we'll have to get a head start then, huh?"

Yes, Francis knew that this was the best decision of his life.

 **Translations:**

 _Rosbif_ = Roast beef.

 _Excusez-moi?_ = Excuse me?

 _Oui, oui_ = Yes, yes.

 _D'accord, je l'ai terminé. Vous pouvez déplacer, maintenant._ = Okay, I'm done. You can move now.

 _Vous pouvez le faire, Francis. Vous ferez cela. =_ You can do it, Francis. You will do this.

 _Flawless, comme d'habitude. =_ Flawless, as usual.

 _Alice, vous êtes la seule chose que je voulais vraiment. Il se sent comme la folie, parce qu'il n'y a pas de sens à elle et rien que la douleur et la beauté de toutes les formes. À vrai dire, je vais toujours veux vous. Jusqu'à ce que chaque soleil devient sombre dans chaque ciel, jusqu'à ce que je ne suis rien de plus que de la poussière cosmique longtemps oublié, je vous veux. Et même alors, dans tout le néant, persisteront le désir. =_ Alice, you're the only thing I really wanted. It feels like madness, because there is no sense to it and nothing but the pain and beauty of all forms. In fact, I'll always want you. Until each sun darkens in each heaven, until I am nothing more than cosmic dust long forgotten, I want you. And even then, throughout the nothingness persist desire.

 _Comment pourriez-vous même penser une seconde que je dirais non? Ne doutez pas de mon amour pour toi jamais, comprendre? =_ How could you even think for a second that I would say no? Don't doubt my love for you ever, understand?

 _Oui, je comprends._ = Yes, I understand.

 _Chéri_ = Darling.

 _Futur époux_ = Future Husband.

 _Trente_ = Thirty.


	10. Chapter 10

**Once again, I'm late to post anything. Sorry, guys, it's been a hectic day, so I had a hard time getting myself off of my ass to publish this. Also, it looks like the plans for my California trip have changed a bit, thanks to my indecisive uncle *rolls eyes*. I won't be able to post anything at all for the next two weeks, due to the fact that I will be driving on the weekends with no internet and because I just want to spend some time with my cousins. I only get to see them 1 every 2-3 years or so, sadly, so I'm going to spend as much time as I possibly can with them (without being too creepy). I hope you guys enjoy this second installment to Assignment (the Assassin AU), though and I'll "see" you guys again later :)**

* * *

 **Assignment (Part 2)**

France x England

Arthur watched, his glare sharper than the dagger hidden in his boot.

The assassins were arguing among themselves, all exposed in front of the King. Despite that, the blonde idiot didn't seem all that perturbed. So, he had known that they were assassins. Arthur grinned darkly. Interesting.

 _"_ _What the fuck are you doing here?"_ Zwingli hissed at the other four, Swiss accent biting through the tense silence.

"I courd say the same to you, Zwingli-san." Honda replied, tone sharp and eyes sharper. Of course. Arthur could vaguely remember that the two were rival snipers, each with some dirt on the other. He smirked, watching the way Honda's hand twitched. "The king is **_my_** target."

Elizabeta scoffed, brushing her chestnut hair across her shoulder. "Not likely. I've been on his ass for months."

King Francis raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'm so sorry I didn't notice you, dear. You should've said 'ello; I would've had tea with you and everyzing."

Arthur snickered.

"Shut it, tranny." Morgens said, pointing a dagger at Francis, the tip touching the most vulnerable spot on the neck.

Arthur reacted first, growling lowly. _"My Target."_ He whipped out his pocket knife, throwing it at Abel. The bright silver metal embedded itself in Abel's arm, knocking the Dutch man backwards by at least three feet. Gasps echoed through the garden and the assassins took their stances, momentarily forgetting what they had been arguing.

Arthur watched on apathetically as Abel withered on the ground, bright red liquid spurting out of his arm. No, he wouldn't kill him. Not this time. For his sister, at the very least.

"Who's there?!" Yekaterina all but shrieked.

The blonde winced. He smirked. They couldn't see him, yet. Well, he supposed, a little fun wouldn't hurt. "Leave the king alone and I just might let you live." As Arthur suspected, that only served to rile up the assassins.

"Like hell we will!" Elizabeta said, glaring off in his direction. "Do you know 'ow high te price is on his head? I'm not letting anyone else –" the Hungarian was cut off with a strangled cry. A thin, silver needle pierced her shoulder. Despite its size, Elizabeta was knocked back. She stumbled, trying to gain her balance.

Arthur watched as blood spurted from her shoulder. "I warned you." He sighed, looking at his pocket watch. "I'm afraid we'll have to get this done earlier than expected. Pity." The blonde leaped from the marble balcony. Just for a tad bit more show, Arthur did a spin in the air. He landed softly on the patio, boots clicking on the stone.

"Now, then." Arthur let out a breath, bright green eye gleaming through the darkness. "This is where you all attack me."

Unsurprisingly, Zwingli was the first one to advance.

Bullets rang through the air, splitting the atmosphere. **_BANG! BANG! BANG!_** Screaming from within the palace vaguely echoed in his ears. Arthur snorted, dogging the three easily. "Do you even try?" He taunted. Vash was quick to pull out another gun. Arthur was quicker; he whipped around Zwingli - like a snake curling around its prey - and struck. Arthur's hand clutched Vash's wrist. He smirked with dark satisfaction.

 _...Crack!_

Zwingli's pained scream filled the air. Yekaterina tried for a sneak attack. "Ah, ah, ah." Arthur tutted. He wouldn't kill her, but it was mostly because he didn't want to have to deal with her annoying siblings. "Good night, love. And next time, stay away from _my_ targets." His hand struck out at her neck. Yekaterina fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Who's next?" Arthur grinned, assessing them quietly. Zwingli was too weak to do anything. One down. Yekaterina was out. Two down. Now, that only left Morgens, Honda, and Elizabeta.

 _"_ _Who the fuck are you?!"_ Elizabeta screeched. Arthur saw Morgens stand, wobbling slightly.

Arthur smirked. They didn't know who he was. Oh, well. It wasn't that much of a surprise. He always took great care that no one ever knew what he looked like. "I'll tell you…but only on the condition that you beat me first." It took a millisecond for the hot-blooded Hungarian to lunge. What Arthur hadn't expected, however, was that Morgens and Honda would also attack at the same time.

Dear, oh, dear. What was he to do?

 _Slash. Slash. Twist. Turn. Around. Back again. Block. Parry. Block. Block. Block. Shoot. Twist. Slash. Turn. Back. Back. Flip. Around again. Parry. Offense. Offense. Offense. Defense. Shoot. Shoot. Stab. Stab._

Arthur whipped around again, effectively knocking the others back. Adrenaline pushed through his veins, coursing strong and powerful.

"Tch." Elizabeta cursed. She glowered at Arthur. "I will be back, you bastard."

He snorted. "I'm sure." A silvery pin needle pierced through the air, striking right in Elizabeta's airways. Arthur watched her fall down to the ground, blood spurting from the injury.

 _Another one bites the dust._

Vash and Kiku weren't fazed, jumping at the chance to try and ambush them. Arthur ducked, his face wrinkling in disgust as the two promptly blew the brains out of one another.

He sighed, standing up. "How disappointing." Arthur glared down at the blood covered corpses, trying to fight down the powerful wave of nausea. Cold green eyes turned to Morgens. "Run." _Before I change my mind,_ was left unspoken, but the words rang clear in the air. Arthur watched the Danish man scramble away.

"Now, your Majesty –!" And then there was a sword pressed up against Arthur's neck, ready to behead him at one twitch. Green eyes met indigo. Despite the situation, Arthur smirked. "I knew there was more to you."

The French king smiled. It was almost eerie. "I'm flattered, darling."

"Not even an idiot would walk around unprotected while he remained the most wanted man in the Underground."

"Oh?" Francis raised an eyebrow. "Zough, I am surprised. None of ze ozers guessed it."

Arthur snorted. "I'm not like the others."

"Enlighten me."

The Assassin raised an eyebrow, but the king couldn't see it behind Arthur's mask. "Well, if you would be so kind as to remove your sword so that I may –"

"No." Francis stated firmly. "How do I know you won't kill me the second I move my sword a sliver."

Arthur chuckled darkly. "You don't."

The king looked confused. "You're not like the other assassins."

"I did tell you, you know."

"You're not trying to convince me to spare you, nor are you denying ze fact zat you are after my life." Francis continued, not mentioning Arthur's earlier comment.

"I'm an assassin. I've been hired to kill you." Arthur continued, "And I've just killed three people in front of you. I'm not about to pretend that I'm not going to kill you the second I get the chance. Nothing personal; money's money."

The silence was deafening.

"You're good at what you do." Francis vaguely gestured to the bloody heap of bodies with his head. "And you're honest. How much is your employer paying you?"

"Plenty." Arthur said, just to mess with the king.

Francis' long pale hand reached out. His touch was gentle and that made Arthur flinch more than a harsh touch would have. The king undid Arthur's mask and he let him. The mask fell to the ground, landing in a small pool of blood. Honda's blood, if he remembered correctly. The king's thumb ran across Arthur's cheek. The blonde assassin felt his skin tingle and heart thunder.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Finally, Francis gave a soft chuckle. "You have the worst eyebrows I have ever seen." And then he kissed him. **_The bastard fucking kissed him!_** "Whatever your employer pays, I'll pay double. I'll even give you food and rooming for free."

"…In return for what, exactly?"

The king gave another chuckle. "In exchange, you become my bodyguard." He paused. "And if you say no," another giggle, though much darker. "zen off wiz your head."

"Bloody French and their beheading." Arthur sighed. He raised an eyebrow at Francis. "Get ready to pay a fortune, Frog."

Francis moved the sword and pressed his lips against Arthur's temple. "Oh, and you 'ave to share my bedroom wiz me. To protect me, of course."

Despite himself, Arthur smirked. Surprisingly, he saw no down side to that arrangement. "Of course."


	11. Chapter 11

**Anesthetic**

Fem! France x Fem! England

Alice loved kids.

She really did. However, Amelia certainly wasn't making it any easier for the Brit to ignore her overwhelming desire to throw a chair across the room.

Currently, the only two things stopping her from doing just that were the strict manners that her mother had drilled into her, and the small little bundle that was latched onto her torso. Madeline snored softly, almost like little puffs, having passed out from exhaustion. The little blonde girl had spent about thirty minutes of solid crying before the darling had tuckered out. Amelia, on the other hand, was quite content with vanquishing imaginary monsters with an imaginary sword.

"Amelia, sweetheart, could you come here, please?" Alice tried not to let her aggravation show through her sigh.

"Okay!" The bright girl bounded over, smiling happily. She scampered up Alice's legs and joined her sister in a death grip hold over Alice. It was a cage. A cute, living cage of little girls. Alice sighed once more. Well, it was better than having her bounce off the walls like a damn jackrabbit on steroids.

Alice caught the nurse's amused smile as she passed by the waiting room.

Alice pretended not to notice. These weren't her children, after all. She was just babysitting for their mother, Francine Bonnefoy. Their mother was a French immigrant with a nasty habit for flirting with anything that breathed.

Alice was an idiot for falling in love with Francine Bonnefoy.

She still remembers the lovesick look on her mother's face when she told Alice about finding True Love and all that lovey-dovey shit. Alice didn't believe it, no matter how much her parents clearly loved each other. She remained cynical, even after all of her stupid siblings had found a partner, one way or another.

And then she met Francine.

It took 0.2 seconds for Alice to fall head over heels for the Frenchwoman's bright smile. It was pathetic. Utterly and completely pathetic. And Francine had no idea just how much power she had over Alice. Patrick made sure to tease her daily about that.

Brothers are useless.

"Ms. Bonnefoy's family?" A nurse called for her.

Alice's head shot up. She ignored the teasing look in the guy's eyes. "Yeah?" She got up, holding onto the twins tightly. Amelia and Madeline snuggled in closer.

"Follow me, please." Alice did as told, following the nurse through the hallways. They moved through three floors before they came to Room 152. "She's still a little out of it from the anesthetic, but she'll be fine."

Alice gave him a quick nod before entering the hospital room.

Somehow, even after surgery, Francine looked beautiful. Her face was red and puffy, but that was it. Francine's head moved a little and Alice heard her give a small moan. The British woman shook her head, smiling, and moved towards the bed.

Alice carefully set down the girls on Francine's bed. They'd want to be with their mother when they woke up. Tearing Amelia off of Alice's chest turned out to be a challenge, though. Madeline only made a small noise of discontent, still being out of it. However, the little girls soon found each other and cuddled up together, against their mother's bed.

Alice felt her chest tighten at the sight.

She didn't, however, resist the urge to snap a picture (or five) with her phone. Francine would want to see this later. Still showing no signs of waking up soon, Alice settled down into one of the chairs and waited for Francine.

How did she even get into a situation like this?

She remembered that it had started when Amelia had gotten into a yard fight with the new transfer student, Ivan. Alice remembered having to come between the two children, sighing impatiently. Well, she supposed, it came with the job of being a kindergarten teacher. Francine and Ivan's big sister had to be called into office.

Alice was not impressed with the way Francine flirted with her to try and get her daughter out of trouble.

Alice thought that would have been the last time she would have to deal with the Bonnefoy family, but then Francine's second daughter, Madeline, seemingly formed a large attachment on Alice. Madeline was a shy girl who hadn't made any friends yet, and was constantly made fun of for carrying around her polar bear plushie (Kumajiro, as Madeline named it. Strange name, but Alice couldn't judge when she herself had named her stuffed animal Flying Mint Bunny). The small girl quickly formed an attachment to Alice, following her around everywhere.

It wasn't long before Amelia noticed the change in her sister.

At first, the bright girl disliked Alice, going so far as to put snakes in Alice's desk drawer. That had been an incident in itself. Alice held in her gasp under clamped teeth and didn't let the surprise show on her face. The kindergarten teacher then reached down and pulled out all three of the snakes, expressionless. She knew they weren't poisonous. After all, you don't grow up in a house with rowdy siblings without picking up on a few things. Alice still laughed at the memory of Amelia's face that day.

Alice found herself with another little follower not the next day.

And wherever her children went, Francine followed. Francine probably was the most upset about her children bonding to Alice. Well, at least for a while. Now, Alice found herself often babysitting the girls and even eating dinner with them more often than not. Of course, Alice had been stupid enough to let her non-platonic feelings get mixed into this.

Alice was knocked out of her thoughts when she heard a shift of blankets and a soft moan.

"Hey," Alice kept her voice soft. She didn't want to wake the girls or startle their mom. "How are you feeling?"

Francine mumbled something that sounded like "I hope I look better than I feel".

Alice snorted. Of course, she would be worried about her makeup. "You look fine, you silly woman."

The Frenchwoman managed a tired smile. "Just fine, _mon chere_?"

Alice didn't respond to that, simply blushing darkly in the corner. "The girls were worried about you." Francine's smile broadened a bit.

"Did she worry?"

Alice frowned. "Who?"

Francine gave an irritated snort. "Alice, Toni. Who else?" Oh, that must be the drugs talking. Alice remembered something about Francine having asked Antonia, one of her friends, to come watch the girls before Alice. It didn't work out, since Antonia had a date with her boyfriend Lovino (who Alice knew personally and was good friends with).

Alice internally shrugged and decided to play along. "No, she wasn't worried." Francine hummed, eyes closed and a frown on her face. "She knew you would be fine, because you're so strong."

That seemed to lift the woman's spirits up a bit. Alice tried to ignore the soft blush coming over Francine's cheeks.

Naturally, where the girls would go, their mother would follow. Francine constantly flirted with Alice, though she flirted with everyone, so Alice didn't take any of it to heart. It didn't stop her heart from racing and her palms from sweating. She was like a stupidly lovesick teenager when she was around Francine.

The two became friends of sorts, eventually.

Alice would come to their home for "tutoring sessions" and Francine would stuff her to the brim. Francine would have the late shift at work and Alice would babysit the girls. They functioned like a family in every way but one: Francine had no romantic interest in Alice, whatsoever.

"I zink I am going to ask her out next weekend." Francine mumbled, completely unaware of how Alice had frozen in her spot. "What do you zink, Toni?"

Oh. **_OH._**

Alice felt her chest tighten and loosen. Something squirmed in her stomach, and she was sure it wasn't her lunch. "Yeah." Her mouth felt dry. "Yeah, you should ask her."

A smile crossed Francine's face and only then did Alice realize just how much the anesthetic didn't effect her. "Do you think she'll say yes?"

"Definitely." Alice sighed against the chair. "Without a doubt, yes."


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey, guys. It's been awhile, but things are more quiet now. But, that might not be for long. I got accepted into my local community college (Woohoo~!), so I'll be a bit busy. However, I'm getting closer to publishing Blood on the Pavement (and when BTOP is released, Love is a Noun will have to go on a hiatus until BTOP is completed). For now, here you go ElricGurl the Hetalian. I hope you like it. Oh, and I decided to give it a somewhat ambiguous ending than my others (just so I can try something new).**

* * *

 **Fool**

Fem! France x England

"I cannot believe you!"

The blonde man's sharp green gaze slid over to the woman beside him. He flinched slightly at her tone. "It's not my bloody fault."

"Zis is magic. Of course, it's your fault." The brunette woman snapped back, crossing her arms. Francine Bonnefoy was not usually a pouter, but she had her moments. A completely ruined date by a trip to some other world was one of those moments. "Tell your fairy friends to send us back."

Arthur flinched again, from anger this time. "I can't control them! Besides, they're probably playing some bloody prank again. A riddle, more likely."

"Riddle?"

Arthur shrugged. "Tinkerbell isn't particularly fond of them, but Razzleberry and Kiki are almost as bad as my brothers, so they probably hijacked this whole thing."

Francine felt another stab of anger, but also disappointment. After trying for, well, whenever Arthur had hit puberty, Francine had been trying to get him out on a date. And finally! Finally, she had succeeded, though she owed a some (most) of her success to Alfred and Matthew for pushing their father into it.

It wasn't that France and England didn't hang out together (meant in all forms of the words). Or do...certain _other_ activities with one another. Hell, much of the world considered them the very picture of an old married couple. They'd even raised children together. But an actual, formal date? Never. There had been no time for that, with all of the wars and famine going on around them. It had been too hard to trust another person, anyways, up until recently.

It was an absolute atrocity for the Land of Love to have failed so pitifully, especially since it was Arthur.

Francine didn't know why she had picked Arthur of all people, but it was thousands of years too late to change her heart. That didn't mean that she couldn't get mad at him, however. "Arzur - "

A loud pop interrupted her. A small girl, the size of a strawberry, appeared some distance in front of them, hovering worriedly.

Arthur recognized her. "Tinkerbell? What's the meaning of this?"

The fairy looked apologetic. "Sorry, Artie. I tried to stop them, even Hook and Pan tried – And they never get along – but they just wouldn't listen."

The Brit shook his head. "Who's 'they'?"

Tinkerbell flew closer and the two countries just then noticed the scroll in her arms. Arthur took it, frowning. Francine leaned over, curious. She felt her stomach drop and then rise again with a pool of anger. _"Dis moi que c'est une blague."_

Telling by Arthur's expression, however, they weren't. He took out his hand and flicked it, glaring intensely. Once. Twice. Three times and nothing. The blonde man gave an aggravated sigh, avoiding Francine's look and pretended to study the letter carefully.

 _Yo, Iggy! Mom!_

 _So, yeah, you're probably pretty pissed right now (you'll thank Mattie and I later, trust me). Ah, who am I kidding? You're going to come after me once you complete the map. Mattie and I wanted to make this date suuuuuuper special for you guys, so we teamed up Uncle Alistair, Uncle Dylan, Uncle Patty, and Auntie Willy. Even Peter helped out, the little squirt. Don't worry, it's all awesomesauce and romantic and shit! But I can't tell you, or I'll face the Kirkland wrath._

 _\- Alfred Freedom Jones AKA 'Murica._

 _P.S._

 _No magic for you, Iggy._

Arthur was going to smack his son right up the head when he saw him again. He let out a groan and handed the letter the Francine.

Her soft indigo eyes glazed over the letter, anger flaming in them. Arthur tried not to scream. This wouldn't have happened if he wasn't such an idiot and had actually taken Francine out on a date. Though, to be fair, he had no idea why it was so important to her and the kids. They had been with each other for centuries, so why did it matter?

The kids love their mother and they knew what Francine would want for a date. Arthur was mostly concerned about his siblings, the nasty fuckers. Dylan might be able to keep the reigns around Alistair or one of the twins, but all three of them together? Not even Arthur _and_ Dylan combined had a hard time with them.

The British man shook his head and took back the map from Francine. "Come on, let's go." and slipped his calloused hand into Francine's smoother one. "We've got a map to complete."

XXX

It took them hours before they finally found what they were looking for: a golden dick.

Okay, well, it wasn't a dick, but it did look like one. Telling by the leering look on his girlfriend's face, she thought the same thing. Francine gave him a sly glance, "You know, if your _pénis_ was as thick as your eyebrows..."

"Stop right there." Arthur rolled his eyes, the dark blush sizzling over his freckled face. Truth be told, the golden column didn't look too much like the male genitalia, but after being alive for so long, you get imaginative - or die from boredom. A giant pearl sat at the top of the golden column, somehow balancing without anything to support it. Arthur took a whiff and felt a rush of excitement course through his body before he even realized it.

Francine was smiling softly at him, far less irritated than before. "Race you zere?"

Arthur felt an old grin spread across his face. "Loser pays for beers when we get out of here." And then he sprinted, suddenly forgetting the fact that he was supposed to be an old man.

"Hey!" Laughter bubbled out of Francine's throat. She hiked up her violet dress with one hand and held her heels in another.

Her feet pounded against the ground. Her legs ached from the hours of walking (despite the fact that Arthur had carried her three fifths of the way), but she didn't notice. Francine didn't notice the big smile on her face and the exhilaration fill her body. She could smell it. The smell of ancient infinity. Of something older and more precious than countries and humans and all creatures. The smell is everything. The smell fills the air and the wind. It's the sand between her toes and the feeling in her bones.

They reached the beach, laughing like little children and free.

More free than they had been in centuries. The cold water singed against their skin, sending shocks up their bodies.

They played in the cold ocean for hours until they spotted an island in the middle of the water.

It was too far to see, with only the slight glimmer of gold coming from the island to notify them. "What's zat?" Francine asked. Arthur glanced at her. Drenched in water, hair flowing freely, and eyes sparkling.

Beautiful.

Arthur looked down on the crumpled paper in his hands. The map was as dry as Ireland in the spring. A sharp gasp came from Francine and Arthur watched as her eyes turned stormy with anger. "You idiot!"

"Oi!" Arthur shot back, "There's no need for that." He was about to continue when something caught his eye. England looked up back into the ocean, but found nothing. Just water. The island was gone, as was the bright glimmer. "...What the bloody hell?"

"Don't you dare ignore me, Arthur Kirkland." Francine said, but was cut off by Arthur's hand.

"Look."

A frown marred her face. "It's gone. How did it just...?"

"Disappear?" Arthur supplied. She nodded, body still a bit tense. "Magic, I suppose."

"I could've guessed that myself, thank you." She rolled her eyes.

England watched as the scenery dulled slightly. It wavered and dimmed, almost fading down the gradient in color. It was slight, such a small difference that no one would have noticed otherwise. No one that hadn't been immersed in Magic since before birth. His eyes widened.

His stupidly clever brothers had done it again.

"Francine, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." The effort that it took to swallow his pride to say that was worth it. A blush darker than Alistair's hair spread across France's face.

"W-w-what?"

From the corner of his eye, England could see the golden glimmer flash back to his eyes. He smirked. They weren't _that_ clever.

"Arzur, what are you...?" She couldn't even finish her sentence, blushing brightly and stuttering. It was only then that Arthur registered what he had said.

"Francine, compliment me."

"What?!" She gaped at him, looking confused and a bit disgusted.

"Look," Arthur pointed out to the water. "The glimmer returned after the I told you were beautiful."

Arthur missed the flash of hurt in Francine's eyes. "So, you did it to see the island?"

Arthur nodded absently. "My brothers, clever as they may think they are, aren't nearly that great at subtly." He looked back at her. "We have to complement each other to reach the other side."

She swallowed down her rapid heartbeat and wondered why she only now felt nervous. "You have bright eyes."

Arthur focused on the water. Nothing happened. "We need something stronger."

She huffed at him. "Arthur Kirkland, you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen." Francine tried to stop stuttering.

A streak of pink grew onto Arthur's face, which made her feel slightly better. He let out a little breath. "Look." A large shell had emerged from the water near the shore. The couple moved into the water, the cold and salty liquid sloshing against their legs. Arthur tested the pale shell with his foot, "It's safe." He helped France up the weird platform before also climbing on top. The shell wavered a bit under the weight of the two, some water splashing Arthur's leg.

Arthur hadn't let go of her hands even though she didn't need him to steady her anymore.

"France?"

Her head snapped up. "Oui?"

He gave a lame short of shrug and a sheepish smile. And then he whispered something in an unknown language. Another shell appeared from out of the water. Francine gave him a glare, though it looked more like she was a pouting tyke than anything. "That's not fair, you nasty Brit."

His smile turned into the grin of a fox. "Trust me, if I said it in any human language, you'd be blushing so hard that you might overheat."

She huffed, "It's hardly fair to me. _I only know_ _ **human**_ _languages_." Francine's gaze dashed to the next shell. "Why should you be the only one to hear it?"

Arthur blushed softly, scratching his head absently. "How about this? I'll cover my ears when it's your turn, okay?"

Francine felt a twinge of disappointment. She wanted to say no. Some part of her wanted to hear what he loved best about her. An even smaller part of her wanted Arthur to know what she loved about him. Maybe then the dense idiot would finally notice just how much she did love him. "Okay." She took a deep breath and Arthur covered his ears, tightly. The words poured from her mouth easily. It was something she had always wanted to say, but her pride had never let her. _Your cooking absolutely sucks, but I still eat your chocolate on Valentine's Day, even if you try to pass it off as anonymous every year. I know it's you._

Arthur removed his hands from his ears and they moved down two shells. He whispered soft Elvish into her ear. _You make the worst tea I've ever drunk, but I know you'd be devastated if anyone told you that. That's why I drank all of the tea you made at the last World Meeting by myself. I'll have you know that I got sick for that, you beautiful tosser._

They took another step.

 _Thinking about you coming for me was the only that kept me alive during World War 2._ Francine swallowed a huge lump in her throat to get that one out, praying that he didn't hear her.

He didn't. Or, if he did, he pretended that he hadn't. They moved onto another shell. _You were the only reason why I held on during the Blitz._

Francine's turn. _I've never once thought myself to be beautiful or deserving of love. You have no idea how much I adore the look on your face when I dress up or let my hair down._

Another shell. They were almost halfway.

Arthur avoided her eyes. _You were my first kiss._

Francine returned the favor. _You were my first kiss. And my most favorite._

Almost done, now. Arthur spoke in English, this time. "You're absolutely perfect, no matter what anyone else may say."

Francine felt her knees go weak. She stammered for what felt like five minutes, but was probably only a few seconds. "I-I love the sound of your voice."

A sly smirk appeared on the bastard's face. "Oh, really?" He purposefully lowered his voice, like he did when he was a pirate. Or during sex.

"Shut up!" Francine tried to will her blush away. She stormed onto the base of the temple. Arthur followed behind her, almost like a puppy.

"Do you really think it's sexy, love?" His voice was filled with innocent curiosity. This jerk!

"Don't put words in my mouth." She scowled at him.

Arthur wiggled his eyebrows. "What would you rather have in there, instead?"

She threw a high heel at him and slipped away into the temple.

 **Translations:**

 _Dis moi que c'est une blague._ = You've got to be kidding me.

 _Pénis_ = penis.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi :)**

 **How have you all been? Good? I hope so. Okay, so I do have another one-shot out here (obviously, dur), but this AN is mostly to put some important announcements out there.**

 **1\. I can't take requests currently. I filled up really quick with your guy's requests (which is so awesome, don't get me wrong. I love interacting with you guys). But it's just so stuffed that I have work to do all the way up until March 2017. Because of this, I want to get all of the requests written down first before I take anymore in. So, anyone who submitted a request or an idea, I'm not dropping it. Not at all.**

 **2\. Sadly, my updates will most likely become even more infrequent than they are now. This is because I'm officially a Freshman in college now, so I know for sure that the 1st semester is going to be one hell of a ride. During midterms and finals and all that other fun stuff, I'll probably skip a few updates. Also, there's a possibility of me going to San Francisco again (3-4 day trip) sometime around November, so there's that.**

 **3\. Uh...Well, not much else that I can think of at this point.**

 **4\. Wait, never mind. I still need to address Blood on the Pavement. It's still being written, trust me, I haven't forgotten about it, it's just on the back burner. However, I think that by me backing off on the requests for a little while, I'll have way more time to write about Blood on the Pavement. Once again, don't have a solid date, but I wouldn't expect it anytime soon and this is because I want to give you guys a steady stream of chapters so you don't have to wait every 3 months to get an update from me.**

 **I'm done now, so enjoy!**

* * *

 **Writer**

France x Fem!England

Alice's glare burned into the shiny screen of her laptop.

Writer's Block. The worst ailment that human-kind had ever known. It was much less of a block, than a fog for Alice. She knew where she had been. Yes, she had that quite down, some twenty thousand words later. And Alice knew where she wanted to go, which was always good. But there was a very crucial detail missing right smack in the middle of her book.

Romance.

For all of published works, she still couldn't grasp how to write a _fucking_ kiss scene. But really, how complicated was it to write a kissing scene? All you did was literally smash your face onto someone else's in a slightly less hostile way. And then there was than annoying voice that would hiss in the back of her mind, sounding too much like Wilma for comfort.

 _But you've never had your first kiss, now have you?_

Her eye twitched in irritation. God damn it, Wilma. Couldn't her sister just leave her alone, even when they were separated by the freaking Atlantic Ocean? Alice swerved in her chair, turning to glare out the apartment window with enough ferocity that she should've been able to burn a hole in them.

Quebec City carried on with it's bustling life, unaware and uncaring of the sizzling fury of the British woman.

Alice sighed. Her flatmate peaked his head around the corner, wearing a frog apron. "What's got you so down?" Francis asked her, French accent echoing in her mind.

She spared him an uninterested glance. Francis Bonnefoy, renown flirt and player of Hetalia University. The two used to be enemies until they discovered that both of them needed an apartment, and found a common likeness in their constant state of broke-ness. They were more at a state of frenemies, now. They had kept the secret of staying in the same flat from nearly everyone at Uni (for obvious reasons), except the rest of the Brainless-Twats-Trio and Alice's family.

Her father had been so against it and still was today, so she obviously didn't mention that Francis had a condition called "Constant Horniness Disorder".

Last time Alice saw Alistair he told her: _"Ye live with a Frenchie an' ye still cannae get laid?"_ It was safe to say that Alice had made sure to smash all of her brother's ale stash before she left Britain.

Alice studied Francis a bit closer. "You've kissed someone before, right?"

The Frenchman gave her a look of pure astonishment. "Well, obviously." He flipped his blonde hair back. "I mean just look at my _beau physique_ ~".

"Riiiiiiiighhhhttt…" Alice said after a while. Sometimes, it was hard to tell how Francis even managed to get into University. His looks, probably. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did, _Chère._ " Francis gave her that annoyingly smug grin.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

 _"_ _Non, non!"_ Francis called from the kitchen. "I am ze best person to ask questions!"

She groaned. "Right, well, next time I need help finding an STD clinic, I'll give you a call."

"Whoa," Francis looked at her with wide eyes. Guilt struck her heart. Maybe she should apologize. "Are you on your period?"

The guilt left as quickly as it came. She growled at him. "Say that one more time. **_I fucking dare you._** "

"Okay, okay!" Francis backed up. Alice took pleasure in the fear that shone in his eyes. _"Mais sérieusement, ce qui ne va pas?"_

"Writer's Block."

"Oh…" Francis nodded in understanding. He came closer after he discarded the apron. "What's it about? I might be able to 'elp."

She blushed bright red, not looking at him. "I'm writing a kissing scene."

" _Oui_ , and…?" Francis sat at her feet, completely unaware of how awkward this was getting for Alice.

"There is no 'and'," Alice sighed. "I don't know how to write a kissing scene."

"What do you mean you don't know 'ow? It's simple, _non_?" Francis raised an eyebrow. "When was ze last time you were kissed?"

"…" Alice looked everywhere but his eyes. "…I can't remember…"

"You've never had your first kiss?!" Francis gawked at her, jaw slack.

 _"_ _I have!"_ She shot back, red to the tips of her hair. "I just can't remember what it felt like, it was a long time ago." Which was a lie, of course, but there was no fucking way she was going to tell Francis that.

A look flashed through Francis's eyes. It wasn't something pleasant or teasing, like she'd thought. If she didn't know him better, Alice would say that it was jealousy. "I guess we'll just 'ave to fix zat zen, won't we?"

Something warm and soft was on her lips before Alice could even process it.

Her jaw went slack from surprise. Francis took advantage, leaning in closer, just until they were chest to chest. She found herself pushing herself into his hold, against her better judgement. Someone gave a happy moan, but Alice didn't know who it was. Didn't care who it was. It should've shocked her, disgusted her. It felt more like a pleasant form of resignation. His hand – she never noticed how large and warm it was until now – crept up to the middle of her back, pushing her in closer – if that was even possible. Instinctively, Alice's arms snaked around Francis's neck and pulled him in closer. His warm tongue brushed against her swollen lips, making her pull away in shock.

Alice saw the reflection of her bright green eyes in Francis' indigo ones.

They dove back in, almost desperately. Francis' tongue jabbed into her mouth, startling Alice. She'd only seen this on movies and she had no idea what to do. Francis might've sensed her unease, as he started to slow down. His moves were languid and smooth, as if they had all the time in the world. Francis' tongue gently coaxed her own into moving back against his. The two muscles twisted and turned. Alice gained some random spirit of courage, taking one of her hands and entangling it into his silky hair. No, she wasn't supposed to do this. She yanked him away, panting ruggedly.

A string of French curses splew out of Francis' mouth, but Alice didn't care.

"Don't fuck with me, Jackass." She hissed, glaring at him. The Brit stood hastily from her chair.

Despite the twisting knot of nervousness in his stomach, Francis grinned. "After dinner, zen?"

Alice bristled, like a cat, and gave him the darkest glare she could muster in her embarrassed state. "Not even in your wildest dreams." And then she was gone, probably marching down the apartment stairs, steaming and bright red.

Francis felt his own face. A pale, long hand covered the growing grin on his face. _"Si seulement vous saviez..."_

 **Translations:**

 _Beau physique_ = Beautiful physique.

 _Chère_ = Dear.

 _Non, non!_ = No, no!

 _Mais sérieusement, ce qui ne va pas?_ = But seriously, what's wrong?

 _Oui =_ Yes.

 _Non =_ No.

 _Si seulement vous saviez..._ = If only you knew...


	14. Chapter 14

**So, lazy ass here finally wrote this!**

 **Hi, it's been about 2-3 weeks since I last posted? Sorry for the delay, but I know that a lot of you have been requesting this and I just wanted to make sure that it was top notch for you all. This was a bunch of fun to write, though, so I hope you guys all enjoy this!**

 **Also, I was thinking of releasing a kind of sneak peek to Blood on the Pavement around Christmas, so what do you guys think? If you guys like the idea, maybe I'll do it!**

* * *

 **Perception (Part 2)**

France x England

Francis Bonnefoy was a lot of things, but a whore was not one of them.

The people at his workplace didn't seem to understand that simple fact. Then again, he did work in a strip club.

Francis Bonnefoy. An immigrant from France. A man with no family and very little friends. A struggling artist and dancer. A man of his word. A lover, not a fighter. A man who was admired and awed at by all at his university. But loved by none. A man who gave companionship to several, but was too closed to truly open his heart for anyone. A dancer. A performer. Not a whore.

It seemed like only one other person understood that; and Francis had never even had a conversation with him.

He stayed in the shadows, but was a regular, nonetheless. He had appeared only a few weeks after Francis had started the Frenchman's new career. The Man With the Green Eyes. That's what Francis called him, anyways. Or simply, Green Eyes. That was the most striking feature about this mysterious man, besides his eyebrows. Green Eyes was always there the nights Francis preformed, watching with ponderous and guilty eyes.

Guilty green eyes.

Francis knew that his mystery man couldn't be married, as he seemed about the same age as him. So what was it? Did he feel guilty because he had a girlfriend or a boyfriend? Or was it because he felt uncomfortable watching Francis? No, that couldn't be it.

Francis always felt a sort of chill when that man was around. Bright green eyes, watching Francis like a cat watches a bird protected by a wall of glass. Longing. When Francis danced, he had always danced for someone, and never himself.

At first, he danced for his family. And then he had no family. Then, he had danced for his girlfriend. And then she was gone, like the smoke that had wisped from her apartment. Finally, he had danced for the money. He didn't dance well when he danced for the money. In fact, he knew the only reason why the club kept him around was because the crowd found him attractive.

And then the man came.

Francis only danced for the man, now. A new sense of passion for dance had exploded within him. It showed in his art, as well. His teachers praised him more often and he found himself being more cheerful. He had even met two people that he considered soon-to-be-friends. This man had changed Francis' life and they had never even had a full conversation.

Well, that was going to change tonight.

XXX

Francis felt his heart pounding from nervousness.

Not for his next dance on the stage. No. He could do his routine with his eyes closed, but he wouldn't. If he blindfolded himself, he wouldn't be able to see those green eyes.

Speaking of Green Eyes, he was here again.

In his usual spot, hidden in the back row. Cloaked by the shadows and smoke. Francis took a deep breath.

"Not backing out are you?"

He looked back to see Francine giving him a soft smirk. "No," he shook his head. "I can't run anymore."

Her shoulders relaxed. Francis hadn't even noticed that they were tensed up. "Good, because I'll take him if you don't want him."

Francis tensed, about to say something. And then Francine laughed.

"I'm just kidding, darling." Then she gave him a pat on the back and left.

Francis knew that she wasn't kidding. Francine had noticed the man in the back almost right after Francis. He knew for a fact that she might have been developing a small crush on Green Eyes.

He took a deep breath. He wouldn't let that happen.

Francis stepped out onto the stage, smiling as brightly as possible without looking fake. Cheers erupted throughout the club, but Francis ignored them. His eyes were trained on Green Eyes. His heart stopped and the smile started to slip off. Green Eyes was looking straight into Francis' eyes, unwavering and excited.

Something bloomed in Francis' chest and he knew what it was immediately.

Oh, yes, Francine was getting her hands on Green Eyes. Not if he had anything to say about it. He sauntered over to the pole, took a bow, and let his body take over the rest.

XXX

Arthur could feel his heart stuttering in his chest.

He had no idea why he kept coming back to the stupid strip club. Except, he did know. He knew somewhere, deep inside something animalistic. He knew exactly why he kept coming back.

But there was a difference between knowing and accepting.

And his brother, _oh so helpful brother_ , had done so much to help clear up the fog in Arthur's brain. _"Ye gay."_ Were his exact words of wisdom. Yes, so helpful. Arthur sincerely doubted he would've gotten the same amount of information had he asked a brick wall.

Alfred, on the other hand, had been surprisingly more helpful.

Barely.

 _"_ _So, you feel funny when you see him?" Alfred asked, his face only moderately stuffed with burgers._

 _Arthur gave a stiff nod, feeling like the temperature in the room had suddenly spiked at Alfred's question. "It's not like I've never looked at a man's arse before, but…"_

 _"_ _This is different."_

 _Alfred shrugged and went back to stuffing his face with food. Arthur didn't know how he could be so nonchalant about all of this. Shit. Was this how Alfred had felt when he came out to Arthur? This awful gut twisting pain that seemed to envelop Arthur in a thick goo. The sweaty palms and armpits. The sudden interest in anything besides Alfred's eyes._

 _Wait. SHIT. WAS THIS HIS COMING OUT?! Was he coming out without even knowing it?_

 _Arthur let out a slight groan, rubbing his forehead. "I'm such an idiot."_

 _Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, right. If you're an idiot, then I'm a genius." Alfred pulled away from his food for a minute and looked back at Arthur. "Well, you're a block by block, organized, stick-in-his-ass kind of guy. But humans aren't like that. Comparing humans to your textbooks are like comparing enchiladas to bread slices."_

 _Arthur snorted._

 _"_ _I'm serious!" Alfred cried. "We might look like we're in control on the outside, but on the inside…" he paused, waving his arms out. "We're a huge mush of beans, meat, and cheese."_

 _Alfred's expression turned serious and he pulled Arthur into a bone crushing hug. "If it turns out your gay, or bisexual, or trans, or pan, or poly, or any of those other, I don't care. I especially don't care if you decide that you don't know what you are or whatever. You'll always be my brother, no matter what."_

That conversation had led to a lot of unmanly tears that neither Alfred nor Arthur wished to talk about afterwards.

It had been reassuring. And Arthur knew that he would have the same reaction from his family, even if they would be more reluctant and certainly gruffer about it. But that's no help, really. Because he wanted to know. He wanted to be able to fit himself into a neat little box. He didn't want confusing emotions and loose ends. He didn't want to hesitate when someone asked him what his sexuality was.

He wanted to be a slice of bread.

XXX

Francis' performance ended and he looked up to the crowd, bright eyes practically glowing.

People cheered and yelled out lecherous remarks, but the Frenchman couldn't give a damn. He was watching Green Eyes. The man in the back. The only one in the room who mattered. Behind the thick veil of cigarette smoke and curtained by the shadows, Green Eyes watched. His eyes were gleaming and there was a slight wrinkle around his lips.

Francis only knew one emotion to describe how he felt; and he also know that no matter what, he couldn't pass up his chance tonight.

Green Eyes looked down, presumably at his phone and frowned. Francis panicked as Green Eyes began to start packing his things up from the table.

Francis' eyes caught Francine, giving him a wild flail of her arms from behind the curtain. _Go!_ Francis leapt off the stage and dashed after the man, heart pounding.

XXX

"Wait, please!"

Arthur whipped around at the sound of a frantic and foreign accent. The dancer from the stage was chasing him. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright, though his eyebrows were knotted tightly in concern. Arthur's jaw dropped. The mad man had run out here without even putting on a shirt!

Taken over by an instinct, Arthur rushed forward and took off his jacket. The mystery dancer looked surprised as Arthur draped the heavy material around the man's body.

"Are you an idiot!" Arthur scolded, though there was no bite to his tone other concern. "You're going to freeze out here! What were you thinking?"

Francis stared at Green Eyes. Millions of things were running through his mind. He felt foolish, but he could hardly feel it over the fluttery feeling that was in his chest. Green Eyes was much more than Francis had anticipated. His eyes were, well, green. But they were different up close. It's true that the eyes were the window to the soul. And his voice! God, his voice was smooth like silk and as warm as velvet. Kindness, Francis thought as he unconsciously brought the warm coat closer to his frame, was a very sexy trait.

"I had to talk to you." Francis managed to stutter out, thankfully without mixing up any French in his sentences, either.

Green Eyes frowned. "You had to talk to me?"

Francis felt foolish, suddenly, but he didn't bother stopping. "You're always coming to my performances and I just had to say something. You only come on the nights I'm dancing and you only stay for as long as my dance. Why?"

It was Arthur's turn to feel flushed, which helped battle some of the stinging cold that stabbed his body. "I, uh, like watching you dance. Y-Y-You're very…talented."

Francis couldn't help it, he burst out laughing. "Talented isn't what people usually call strippers."

Green Eyes gave him a sharp glare, but for some reason the Frenchman knew that it wasn't directed at him. "It's Arthur, by the way. My name, I mean."

The softness was back in Green Eyes, no, Arthur's eyes and Francis felt something in him melt. "Francis."

"Real name?"

Francis smiled, " _Oui_. That is, if you'll go out to dinner wiz me?"


	15. Chapter 15

**I have a feeling that no one is going to read this. I have no idea why I write ANs if everyone is just going to ignore them. *Sigh* But those of you that took the time to read this, thank you. Anyway, I'll say it again. I would like to release a quick spoiler of Blood on the Pavement if you guys are interested. Also, I'm thinking of writing a Merthur Youtuber AU fanfiction. What do you think?**

* * *

 **Language**

Fem! France x Fem! England

1944 C.E.

Rum and wine bottles scattered across the pale white tiles of the kitchen floor. Everything was dark, with the exception for one lone candle on the dining table, flickering to signal near expiry. China tea cups lay on the floor, broken, courtesy of a breakdown. Blood was leaking from the cuts that the cups had forced into her skin and seeping into the cracks of the tiles, steadily flowing across the floor like the veins in a leaf. Alice couldn't give a damn. The radio crackled from three rooms away, Churchill's riveting voice faint and murky. Must've been the alcohol. Alice closed her eyes and let the dull, stabbing pain of her people sizzle through her.

Fuck, it hurt.

Families sliced apart, London nursing it's wounds, orphanage overload, fear, courage, death, life, anxiety, rush, and the overwhelming build of rage which had turned into a slow simmer since Doomsday.

Alice cradled Francine's body, unconsciously tugging her closer into her chest. Alice's heart cracked with every one of Francine's hopeless sobs and whimpers.

 _"_ _Ça va. Il ne peut pas vous blesser maintenant."_ Alice whispered softly, running her fingers through her lover's hair. Or were they even that anymore? The war had torn them apart and put them through so much pain. Screams echoed in their ears, creating a perfect harmony with sirens and the sobbing of children. "I'm so sorry. I love you. You're safe."

It was the mid summer of 1944. World War II steadily coursed on. The war was still being fought, but Francine was back. Francine was safe now. Safe in Alice's arms, and far, far, far away from Germany. Or at least, her body was still here. Francine wasn't herself. She was still fighting a war.

Alice immediately loosened her grip at a pained yelp from Francine. _"Pardon."_ The British woman sighed, and Francine hesitantly cuddled further into Alice, still sobbing.

France had been starved for touch.

For love, for light, for freedom. With nothing but pain and misery for company, Alice was surprised that Francine had managed to last that long. But the French were strong, in their own way. Francine was strong. She'd make it through this… ** _wall_**. She had to. She was Francine Bonnefoy.

Alice needed her to make it through this.

She didn't notice the tears that streamed from her tired eyes until they started to drip from her cheeks and onto Francine's chestnut patches of hair.

God, Hitler had done terrible things.

He had torn Francine away from her beautiful clothes and forced her into rotten rags that not even the rats wanted. He had tortured her almost every week. She had been forced to hear the screams of her people. The camps. God, the concentration camps. Alice had looked everywhere for Francine. And every time she missed her. Be it by five fucking minutes or damn near three months, Alice always missed her. Until Doomsday.

She found Francine there, among the rubble of Paris' chapels and flower shops.

"I love you." Alice hoarsely whispered into Francine's ear. _"Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement. Je vous aime tellement fucking beaucoup. Je suis vraiment désolé. Je t'aime."_

Language was such an insignificant thing now. Not only five years ago, it would have been ridiculous for Alice to be speaking French. But she had to. She wanted to. Francine needed to remember. To remember who she was and not who Hitler had tried to create. The Frenchwoman was still very much trying to piece together what shards he had left.

Francine either spoke German or nothing. She flinched if anyone other than Alice, Amelia, or Madeline touched her. Francine avoided eye contact at all costs. She spent most of the day staring aimlessly out the window mumbling incoherently.

Churchill made it sound like it was easy.

Like they had won the war, now that the Americans were involved. Alice gave a small huff. No. The truth was so different.

Yes, they had Amelia, now. But she was young. Young and scared and rash. Amelia hadn't fought in many wars, as tough as the few were, she was still just a child. Same with Madeline. Except that Madeline wasn't fully independent, yet. Alice could sense that Canada was starting to get restless, though. If – If they survived this God forsaken war, Alice would give Madeline the independence that she craved, yet was too shy to ask for. She had earned it a hundred times over and Alice was sure that she was ready to stand on her own two feet. But…Francine…

She needed Alice, whether Francine liked it or not. Alice had to be strong for her. Even if that meant that Alice had to speak French for an eternity.

Francine shifted from under Alice's grip and turned to look at the Brit. Her heart nearly broke. Francine looked terrible. Her eyes were so dulled and glossed over, Alice wasn't even sure there was a soul inside of her lover. _"Tu es venu pour moi."_

Alice felt a mix of pain and love twist tightly in her stomach. She didn't say anything.

Francine looked at with dead eyes and a beaten expression. _"Je vous ai manqué."_

 **Translations:**

 _Ça va. Il ne peut pas vous blesser maintenant._ = It's okay. He can't hurt you now.

 _Pardon =_ Pardon.

 _Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement. Je vous aime tellement fucking beaucoup. Je suis vraiment désolé. Je t'aime._ = I love you. I love you. I love you so much. I love you so fucking much. I am really sorry. I love you.

 _Tu es venu pour moi._ = You came for me.

 _Je vous ai manqué._ = I missed you.


	16. Chapter 16

**So, this one is probably my shortest. I know that, for some reason unknown to me, this is my most popular one-shot in this series. _There is a part 3, so I don't want to hear one request for a 3rd one of this or any of that crud!_ Well, this one and the stripper AU. You guys should also know that my driving class starts next month, as well as my midterms, so I probably won't post at all (or very little) during October. Stuff will quiet down in November, though.**

* * *

 **Message (Part 2)**

Fem!France x England

Arthur's heart hurt.

Francine was back. **_She was back!_** He thought that he would never see her again. Francine. Wonderful Francine. Sweet, kind, beautiful Francine. He wondered what she looked like now. How much her hair grew, what kinds of clothes she wore. He missed her bright, jewel-like eyes. He missed her. He missed her _so fucking much._

When Francine had left for Canada that night, she had taken Arthur's heart with her.

Those five years were miserable. He's still miserable. Francine had returned to the estate just over a week ago, and she still was hiding from him. The blonde man feared the worst _. What if she'd met someone in Canada? What if she decided that she didn't love Arthur, after all?_

Arthur Kirkland was a plain boy.

Lanky,not muscley. Pale, not tanned. Freckles scattered his body, not smooth. His hair was a pale ash blonde; not the bright golden color that was so attractive and admired in society. And worst of all, Arthur could never speak.

He would never be able to tell Francine how much he loved her.

The saying went along the lines, _"Actions speak louder than words",_ but Arthur better than that. He knew that humans were complicated and dense creatures. Arthur knew that humans were insecure, and had to be occasionally reminded that they were loved. It didn't take much. Just a small reassurance.

One sentence. Three words. Eight letters.

A magic spell that Arthur could never utter. The only thing he prayed every night and day for. The ability to truly pour out his heart to Francine. Given the choice, Arthur would gladly sell his soul to the Devil, just to say it to Francine. Just once.

He had no idea if Francine still cared for him, but that didn't mean he was going to give up.

XXX

Francine woke in the morning to find a lone Iris at her door, wrapped in a small lace bow.

She immediately knew who had sent it. She forced the rabid beat of her heart down. How could he still remember that this was her favorite flower? It had been years. _Five years._ Francine dared not to let herself hope that this meant what she thought it meant.

XXX

Another flower was on her doorstep the next day.

It had been a particularly bad day, filled with battles against her father and the ripping of one of her favorite dresses – a dark purple one that clenched at her waist and flared out at her hips. Normally considered a weed, a Dandelion was a strange one to be sent to her. As she grew older, Francine's line of suitors had only increased and she was used to being sent large bouquets – bigger than the whole upp half of her body – of flowers, usually them being something generic like Roses or Lilies. They never held any meaning. Not like Arthur's did. She cradeled the small flower in her hand gently. _Happiness._ Francine didn't notice the small, forbidden grin grow onto her face.

XXX

Slowly, every day, Francine began to expect Arthur's flowers.

No, that was wrong. She _anticipated_ them. Francine was slowly falling in love with the man all over again, the past three months. She hadn't even seen him, yet, the coward she was. If Arthur resented that, he seemed to cover himself well. All the flowers that were sent to her carried nothing but well-wishes and happiness. But, at the same time, none of them carried a hint of a message that she longed to hear. Francine needed to know if Arthur loved her, but she was too much of a weakling to find out, for fear of breaking her heart.

XXX

On the sixth month, there isn't a flower at the doorstep.

Francine's heart aches in a painful way, as it drops to her heels. She tried to shake it off and opens the bedroom door. Her breath hitches in her throat. The flower is in her room.

And it's in Arthur's hand.

He looks nervous. She's never seen him look so nervous before. Francine thinks it looks adorable. _"…Arthur."_

Arthur looks up at her and for the first time in five and a half years, their eyes meet. His eyes are bright. They're fresh like spring and burn like summer. It's the color of grass and leaves and those plants he loves so dearly. They sparkle like gems crafted by the calloused hands of dwarves, but they're hooded in an alluring darkness. His eyes are the color of nature and they hold all of nature's wildest passions in them.

 _"_ _Arthur."_

His lips twitch upwards. It's silent, but the noise is suffocating. Arthur is the first one to make a move. His eyes flit about nervously, but he seems determined. The single, pulsing red flower that's held in his clamy hand is suddenly thrust upon her. A rose. A lone, scarlet rose. The color of blood and victory. Of passion and lust.

 _I love you; I still love you._

And her heart soars. Francine's feet launch her into Arthur's arms before her brain can even process it. Arthur's not prepared for it, and the two fall back onto the floor. Peals of laughter fill the air. Francine's heart thumps against her chest. Hard. Arthur's voice is scratchy and broken, but he's laughing. He's laughing and smiling and he loves her.

 _Arthur loves her._

Francine's well-manicured hand reaches out and clenches Arthur's calloused one. "I love you, too." Tears are welling in her eyes and she doesn't care. "I love you so much. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. I'm such a coward. I'm an idiot and a coward. I should 'ave come to see you, but I ran away –!"

Arthur cuts her off with a soft kiss and it's everything she's ever wanted.


	17. Chapter 17

**Definition**

France x Fem!England

Ever since he was a child, Francis had pictured who his "one" would be.

A thing that was typically done by girls, Francis learned that the hard way. So, he kept his mouth shut. That didn't stop him from coming up with ten qualities his "one" was required to have. His wants were fairly simple, but somehow, he still managed to find a girl who defied every single last one of them.

 **She must be kind.**

When he was in kindergarten, he met a girl.

She changed his life forever, and he wasn't always sure that it was a good thing. Her family had just moved to his town from London. She was introverted and barely talked to the other kids. The new girl, Alice Kirkland, was quick to be singled out and Francis wasn't surprised that as soon as recess hit, she was surrounded by a pack. Francis had watched on, pitying her. He knew what it was like to be bullied, as he was nearly every day. He was too much of a coward to say anything.

The new girl, however, wasn't intimidated in the slightest.

Alice snarled back at them, giving a few sharp quips that Francis knew wouldn't come from an average five year old. She talked like she was from a far better upbringing than them, but she was dressed in thrift store rags. The kids made fun of this, calling her a pig and asking if her family had to go door to door, begging for spare change.

That's when a lion unleashed itself.

Alice was vicious and she didn't hold back. He still remembered shaking in his tiny shoes when her feral gaze landed on him.

Alice was _**not**_ kind.

 **She must be able to cook.**

It wasn't that Francis wanted a woman to serve him, no, his mama had taught him better than that. He just wanted to share a hobby with someone and Francis loved cooking as much as he loved designing outfits – which he was not allowed to share, his papa declared so. Francis was quick to discover that his childhood "frenemy" Alice lacked finesse in this area, as well.

"How did you mess zis up?" Francis asked, staring gobsmacked at the charcoaled mass on the plate. He swore he could see all the radiation coming from the lump. "It's just chocolate mousse!"

"What's wrong with it?" Her voice was challenging, but if Francis had bothered looking up, he would've seen Alice's hurt expression.

"An antler just stabbed me!" She let out a growl and promptly kicked him in the shins.

Alice _**couldn't**_ cook to save her life.

 **She must like his accent.**

Alice broke this rule straight away. She'd always made it clear that she hated his "Froggy" accent and what was even worse, she detested the language. Francis used this to his advantage so that he could insult her without her knowing. That failed quickly.

" _J'ai mal à la tête."_ Francis groaned to Antonio and Gilbert, his best friends. The summer heat swirled around the Student Council room.

Gilbert and Antonio gave unsympathetic chuckles. They didn't know French, but they could guess some bits, telling by their melodramatic friend's behavior. None of them noticed Alice until she came strutting into the room, with all the elegance deserving of a school council President.

" _Voilà votre cerveau essayant de comprendre sa propre stupidité."_ She rolled her eyes at him, shoes clicking on the floor and Vice President Rio behind her, snickering.

Francis' jaw dropped to the ground and he watched, dumbstruck, as she sashayed away.

Alice _**hated**_ French, but was fluent in the language.

 **She must have a nice figure.**

This wasn't added to the list until he hit puberty. Francis was pretty lenient when it came to this one, unlike his best friends Antonio and Gilbert. He liked short and tall girls. He liked curvy and skinny girls. He mostly liked girls with nice boobs. Francis had a general standard of B cups and up. And at Hetalia high, he was surrounded by well-endowed girls, much to his and many other's delight.

He really wasn't surprised when Alice developed to be about as plump as a board.

And he was sworn under secrecy for fear of death if he ever mention that one time he _**didn't**_ catch her stuffing her bra.

Alice _**wasn't**_ appealing, in the typical sense.

 **She mustn't be tsundere.**

Francis was constantly surrounded by women and men. It was just how he'd lived his life. It was sure as the sky blue that someone was always after his body. Body. Francis had yet to meet anyone else who ever was after his heart. They were always after his looks. No one could ever see beyond that. And now was one of those somewhat rare times when Francis wished that he was not blessed with his good looks.

The girls and boys surrounding him chattered loudly, all ogling and trying to flirt with him. Francis glanced around nervously, trying to ignore how one girl had her boobs pressed up against his chest and also the male hand that had someone how slipped into his back pocket.

He wasn't in the mood for this. Not today.

"Oi!" A sharp, posh, and very much English accent cut through the chattering.

Francis felt his body relax as Alice came into view. This was the only time when he was interested in doing his duties as a Student Council employee. "Alice! _Aidez moi._ " He knew for certain that no one else in the group could speak French.

Alice gave no indication of the snickering that Francis knew she was doing inside her head. Except for her eyes lighting up. Oh, he'd get her back for this. After she helped him, of course.

"Go away, prude." One of the girls snarled at Alice.

Alice snarled back. "Stop clogging up these halls like your uncle's arteries and get a move on it. _**Some people**_ are actually trying to do something with their life other than drooling over this Frog."

Francis nearly grinned as a collective flinch went throughout the crowd.

"You can't tell him what to do!"

Alice raised an eyebrow. "Can't I? My underlings, my rules."

Sensing another fight, Francis gave a nervous chuckle. "Duty calls, everyone." And he was quick to rush off with Alice, slowly starting to relax as the got farther and farther away. " _Merci."_

Alice shook her head. "You're an idiot." She stopped and turned to glare at him. "If they're getting in your face and you don't like it, tell them to back to fuck off. I'm not always going to be here to ward off your vacuous fans, you know that, right?"

His heart ached at the words _I'm not always going to be here_ but he quickly waved it off. "Careful, Prez. You sound almost worried for me."

The blush that invaded her face was almost painful. "Shut it, you twat!"

Alice _**was**_ a tsundere.

 **She mustn't date other boys.**

One of the most painful feelings that Francis had ever felt came from seeing Alice on a date. Alice. The one girl in the whole school who was collectively shunned and despised, managed a date. And of course it was Rio.

Stupid Vice President Rio Fernandez-Carriedo.

The same stupid boy that Francis knew for a fact was Alice's crush since the beginning of middle school. He felt a sudden rage in him as Rio took Alice's hand in his and laid a kiss on her finger tips. It only got worse when he saw the ferocious blush on her face.

That lying, traitoring, thief!

Alice wasn't Rio's to take. That wasn't his hand to kiss. Her first date didn't belong to Rio. That blush wasn't Rio's and neither was that soft, smoldering shade of grass in her eyes. But Alice wasn't Francis' and he had no right to act like this. Unsure of what to do, Francis ran away.

Alice _**was**_ dating someone else.

 **She must look at him.**

Francis automatically knew that something was wrong when Alice had avoided his gaze for an entire week. He didn't notice it the first few days, taking it that she was maybe sick or just more pissed than usual. It started to worry him on Wednesday. Now here he was, Saturday, standing in her room.

"You've been acting weird." He said.

"No, I'm not." She still wasn't looking at him.

"Look at me, then." Alice didn't budge. Francis frowned and crawled onto her bed, where she laid. His hand forced her to look at him, though gently, but she still flinched. Her green eyes met his indigo ones. They were duller than usual. Francis' heart squeezed in his chest. "What's wrong?"

She didn't look away. Not this time. "My dad got promoted…to Australia. I'm not coming back."

His heart thudded against his chest. Painfully. He didn't ask why she didn't tell him; he knew. He didn't ask where in Australia; he didn't care. He didn't ask when she was planning to tell him; he didn't want to know. "How much time do we have left?"

He watched the tears well in her eyes. "Not enough." Francis kissed her.

When she shoved him away, she _**wasn't**_ looking at him anymore.

 **She must go on a date with him.**

Two months and twenty-three days. That's all there was left for them. Two month and twenty-three days and Alice was fucking ignoring him. That is, until he cornered her in the school library. He knew that she would be there. She always went there to think. She always went there to cry.

Francis snuck around tall filled shelves, tiptoeing. He was right, as he soon saw. Alice was huddled underneath one of the tables, clutching her chest and letting the tears run freely. Softly and quietly. No one would have heard her if the passed by. Francis doesn't want to know why she cries silently. Why she formed that heartbreaking habit.

It takes him crawling under the table and sliding his arms around her for Alice to notice his presence. Or maybe she knew, but didn't care. Unconsciously, she leans into him.

"I don't want to go." She croaks, burying her wet face into his neck.

Francis shivers. "I know." He pulls her in tighter. "I know."

Alice sighs and starts to calm down after about fifteen minutes. Her breath is hot on his neck. "Hey, Frog, let's make a deal."

At this moment, Francis doesn't even care what the hell kind of deal it is. Anything for Alice. "Okay."

She relaxes at that and Francis realizes that he hadn't noticed that she was tense earlier. "Promise I'll see you again?"

The question is so heartbroken and fragile and desperate. Francis feels all the pain and joy of loving someone, only to have them ripped straight out of your hands. "Only if you promise to go out on a date wiz me when you do."

She gives a weak laugh and kisses him on the lips. "It's how you make a deal with the Devil." She explains.

Francis _**doesn't know**_ if he'll ever get that date.

 **She must like him.**

"I need to know how you feel about me before you leave." Francis says to her.

She smiles back. It's sad and broken. "I guess you'll just have to wait to find out." It's the last thing she said to him before she left.

Francis _**doesn't know**_ if she likes him.

 **He must love her.**

Francis graduates a year later. Originally, he was going to get held back a year for being an idiot and skipping most of his classes. But he buckled down. And he was miserable. Everyone could see it, but only the ones closest to him knew why. A Francis in a world without Alice was worse than being in a world where color was nonexistent.

They talked every now and then, but it wasn't the same. Nothing was right without Alice. And they hardly had any time, with the time zones having an almost night and day difference and her being enrolled in university early.

For the longest time, it seems like his effort is wasted, applying to only Australian colleges. But he gets accepted and Alice is the first one he tells. Francis can hear her tired smile and knows that it matches his own stupid grin.

"I'm coming, Alice." He says. "And you better keep your end of ze deal."

She laughs at him. There's a million of things she could say. _I miss you. I love you. You're an idiot. I hate you. Don't come._ But what she says next makes everything he's suffered through the past year worth it, "Hurry up, Frog."

Francis _**knows**_ he loves Alice and he realizes that's all he needs.

 **Translations:**

 _J'ai mal à la tête._ = My head hurts.

 _Voilà votre cerveau essayant de comprendre sa propre stupidité._ = That's your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity.

 _Aidez moi._ = Help me.

 _Merci._ = Thanks.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi (Part 1)**

France x England

Francis _**hated**_ his roommate.

That in itself was strange, considering that the Frenchman was generally friendly with just about anyone. People called him kind, sweet, and forgiving. At least, those were the more PG rated descriptions.

Francis Bonnefoy was a flirt.

And a big one, at that. Boys, girls, both, or neither. It didn't matter with him. He loved all and judged none. Francis was, as stated earlier, a pretty amiable person. He was part of a popular local band, The Bad Touch Trio (the other members were his friends Antonio and Gilbert), and was the most popular male on campus. A Freshman at Hetalia University, Francis was enjoying a steady diet of sex and partying.

And then he met his roommate.

Of course, Francis hadn't met his roommate until about Junior year, when the college had switched up dorm partners again. He hadn't minded, since Francis was expecting someone he already knew (Francis was pretty well known around campus). He was not expecting a transfer student from England.

Arthur Kirkland was everything Francis wasn't.

The Englishman hated partying and seemed to have absolutely no interest in romantic relationships whatsoever. Also, Arthur knew where he wanted to go. Knew what he wanted to do with his life. A straight _A_ pre-med student on the fast-track system, Arthur was pretty intimidating to Francis. They gotten along well enough during the beginning.

"Hello, my name is Francis." Francis gave a bright smile and offered out his hand.

Arthur gave a curt nod and shook Francis' hand. "Arthur Kirkland, pleasure to meet you."

The Englishman irritated Francis instantly. Francis wasn't used to people not being even slightly attracted to him, but Arthur seemed as interested in him as a toddler was to a Quantum Physics textbook. It irked him and irritation quickly turned into hate for Francis. And he knew that the feeling was returned.

Arthur was detail-oriented, but Francis' room looked like the playroom of a kindergarten. Arthur couldn't cook anything remotely edible, yet Francis was a culinary major. Arthur hated anything French and Francis hated anything English. Arthur never brought anyone back to the dorms, but Francis had a different person every week. Arthur hated partying, meanwhile Francis was out every night, and so forth.

It took Francis three months before he filed a complaint to the school.

"Aiyah," The Chinese man sighed in front of Francis. "There aren't any rooms available for you to switch with, Mr. Bonnefoy."

"Are you sure you can't, just, switch us or somezing? I hate him and he hates me!" Francis pleaded.

Yao Wang shook his head. "Nothing I can do for you, aru. It's against the rules, aru."

"Won't you bend zem just a _tinsy_ bit? Just for me?" Francis tried, "You always were my favorite teacher."

Mr. Wang snorted. "Try that on someone else, aru. I can't do anything for you right now. Come back at the end of the semester – _with your roommate_ – and I'll see if we can't get someone in the dorms to switch." Yao didn't say that it was unlikely that anyone would want Arthur as a roommate, the stuck-up hermit he was, but Francis heard the words all the same.

"I understand."

About a week later, Francis started online dating because, one: Francis had just about dated nearly everyone on campus, and two: he needed a distraction from his roommate. After two weeks of scrolling through disgusting weirdos and people asking for nudes, Francis finally found a normal user by the name of _Lion423_. They hit it off instantly.

 _FrenchLover: Lion423? That's a pretty strong username._

 _Lion423: I could say the same to you, FrenchLover. Are you French or a Francophile?_

Francis had to pause and look up Francophile before he responded.

 _FrenchLover: Both. So, what's with the Lion?_

 _Lion423: Mum gave me the nickname. She created this account for me. Said that I should get out into the dating world for the sake of her grandchildren._

Francis had burst into peals of laughter. It was a good thing Arthur was out, or else he'd tell Francis to shut his bloody trap and would then throw his slipper at the Frenchman.

 _FrenchLover: Not married yet, then?_

 _Lion423: Pfft. I haven't even had a boyfriend since I entered college._

 _FrenchLover: I'm in college, too, but I have time for dating._

 _Lion423: You know what they say, social life, good grades, and sleep. You can only pick two._

 _FrenchLover: Mostly social life and sleep, wbu?_

 _Lion423: Grades and not enough sleep._

The conversation continued for a while and Francis slowly found himself becoming more and more invested in whoever _Lion423_ was. He learned that _Lion423_ went to university in the same state as him – _what were the chances?_ – and also that _Lion423_ also lived in the dormitory with a roommate that he couldn't get along with. They particularly bonded over that bit, three weeks later.

 _Lion423: My roommate's an utter fucking slob. He leaves his clothes all over the bloody room and he can't even stack his dishes up properly!_

Francis frowned, pitying his online friend.

 _FrenchLover: You poor thing. My roommate's the exact opposite, though, so I can't really relate. He's clean to the point of nausea. I don't have a speck of dust in the dorm room, thanks to his nitpicky nature._

 _Lion423: That's not so bad. At least you never have to worry about cleaning for yourself. I suppose one good thing about my roommate is that he's good at cooking._

 _FrenchLover: He let's you eat his food?_

 _Lion423: He doesn't know. I eat it whenever he's gone out to party, which is more frequent than anyone's life should have to handle, so at least there's that. I don't feel so bad, considering that he always makes me do the dishes._

 _FrenchLover: Honhonhonhon~ How sneaky of you, dear little chat._

Francis chuckled to himself. He knew how much _Lion423_ disliked French, considering that he was English. He seemed to be a lot more tolerant than Arthur was, though.

 _Lion423: Oh, shut it. He mostly just makes French food, though, so there's that, too._

 _FrenchLover: Oh! How dare you? French cuisine is nothing less than food from the gods!_

 _Lion423: I can't think of one god that eats frogs and snails._

 _FrenchLover: And I can't think of one person that would willingly eat blood sausage._

 _Lion423: That's Irish, so that doesn't count. And have you even tried haggis? You don't even know the meaning of pain until you've had haggis forced down your throat._

 _FrenchLover: Haggis?_

 _Lion423: Scottish dish made of sheep organs. My father and oldest brother are Scottish, so my mother made it at least once a month._

 _FrenchLover: At least your mom's a good cook, right?_

 _Lion423: Not really. At least, not compared to my stupid roommate. But mum's cooking is mum's cooking, so it takes first place in terms of sentimentality._

Francis giggled. His friend was such a tsundere. Francis had gotten so good at reading between the lines, now.

 _FrenchLover: How have things been going with your roommate?_

 _Lion423: Absolutely terrible. He brought home two girls yesterday and I couldn't get any sleep._

 _FrenchLover: Oh ho, so he's pretty accomplished in his sex life, then?_

 _Lion423: You could call him an overachiever._

 _FrenchLover: Careful, now, you almost sound like you're going to compliment him._

 _Lion423: I'm not._

 _Lion423: …_

 _Lion423: He is a bit…_

 _FrenchLover: A bit…?_

 _Lion423: Attractive._

Francis chuckled, despite the unknown pang in his chest.

 _FrenchLover: So, you hate him, but you'd tap that, given the chance?_

 _Lion423:…_

 _Lion423:…_

 _Lion423: Maybe._

The pang got stronger.

 _FrenchLover: What do like most about him?_

 _Lion423: Everything and nothing. It's complicated. I like his laugh, but I could fucking punch in his face everytime he laughs his nasally laugh. I've thought about kissing him some days, but it's mostly how much I want to knock out some of his teeth._

 _FrenchLover: Mmm, I might be able to understand a little bit._

 _Lion423: Yeah?_

 _FrenchLover: Yeah. I admire my roommate. He's pretty much everything I've ever wanted to be. He's organized, get's good grades, knows what he wants to do with his life, and he seems pretty focused. I wish I could be like that. Even just a little bit._

 _Lion423:…There really isn't much to admire. Grades are nice and all, but getting them is a lot of work and you can lose a lot of friends and lovers. Grades don't hold you when you're lonely._

 _FrenchLover: Are you lonely?_

 _Lion 423_ didn't respond for ten whole minutes.

 _Lion423: Yes._

 _FrenchLover: Want to know something about being popular?_

 _FrenchLover: I'll tell you on one condition. You in?_

 _Lion423: Sure, why the fuck not?_

Francis laughed softly. For a "nerd", _Lion423_ was pretty gutsy.

 _FrenchLover: Meet me at Jerry's Ice Cream Parlor? I'll pay._

 _Lion423:…Deal._


	19. Chapter 19

**So, hello. It's been...idk, forever. I've decided to just publish the chapters that I do have and then just call it good so, whatever. I don't really have a plan haha.**

* * *

 **Message (Part 3)**

Fem!France x England

"Arzur, I can't."

Francine's sobbing against his chest and she knows that she needs to pull herself together, somewhere in the back of her mind. It's too far back for her to stop.

Arthur pulls her closer to him, even though he has no idea what is going on and is desperately trying to calm her down. She can _almost hear_ him trying to comfort her. She swears she can hear a voice deep down in Arthur. Trying to get out into the cold air. Just for her.

Her heart swells, painfully.

She calms down almost an hour later. The moon has risen to the middle of the sky, its crescent shape stark against the black night. Stars are twinking and watching them. Francine is shivering, but she doesn't care. "I can't get married to him, Arzur. I don't love him. I love _you_." His grip gets tighter and it hurts slightly.

Arthur traces words onto her hand, something he learned how to do while she was gone. _Then don't marry him._

"It's not zat simple." Francine says. "If I don't marry him, my fazer will surely cut me off. As much as I hate it, I need my fazer's money to survive."

 _No you don't._ Arthur traces and then pulls her away just enough so that he can look at her face. Even in the dark, Francine can see the determined glint in his bright eyes. His calloused pale hand touches her cheek and she flinches from how cold he is. He has been out here long than her, working in the garden. Francine doesn't realize that she was crying until Arthur's lips are kissing away the tears. He traces on her hand again. _I can get you out of here._

Her head shoots up. "How?"

He's tracing again, this time a little faster. He's excited. _While you were gone, I found out that I have some family left._

Francine frowns. "I zought zey all died in ze fire?"

Arthur nods. _They did. But I have a brother. A twin._ Francine gasps. _I didn't know he even existed until last year. He offered me a place in his home._

Francine frowned. "Why didn't you say yes?"

Arthur raises his eyebrow, like it's the most obvious thing ever. _I was waiting for you._ Francine blushes heavily, but he probably can't see it in the dark. _We still keep in touch, though. Through letters. He's constantly insisting that I come._

Francine's heart pauses for a second. "You want me to…?"

 _Come with me. We can go to his estate. It's plenty far from here, so your father won't find you._ Arthur traces. _He's been looking for a governess, too. You're educated and kind and beautiful, so there's no way he wouldn't pick you._

"Still…"

Arthur kisses her again. He traces. _Meet me here the same time next week. Come with your suitcase if you want to leave this place._

XXX

It takes one more conversation with her "fiance" for Francine to make a decision.

He's old and trembling and babbling about his past five wives. Francine isn't an idiot. She knows that he's poisoned her tea. It smells nothing like chamomile should, so she doesn't drink it. The lofty smell confirms her suspicions, as well. It's probably a slow-killing poison.

Francine puts down the tea cup a little harsher than she had intended and stands up. "It's been a pleasure, sir, but I must go now."

She spends the rest of the day packing.

XXX

Francine sees Arthur waiting for her at the crumbled pavilion, wearing a tattered cloak and fidgeting.

He stills when he sees her. One second goes by. Two seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds. He smiles, seeing her case. Arthur reaches out and grabs her free hand. He brings it up to his lips, grinning mischievously. _Ready to run away, princess?_ Arthur motions with his hands.

Francine returns the smile, her stomach swirling with butterflies. "Lead ze way."

XXX

Of course, her father had found her when they were only ten minutes from the estate.

Francine's heart is pounding in her ears. She's panting like a dog, sweat trickling down her forehead. Arthur's gripping her hand tightly, even though it feels like the hold is covered in sweat. Arthur is trembling, holding her tightly. Frantically, he starts to trace on her arm.

 _You need to run._

"Zey'll see us if we move."

 _And find us if we don't. You need to go, Francine. Alone._ Arthur traces, roughly and scared.

"I am **_not_ ** leaving you." She hisses, gripping his arm tightly. "We're supposed to go togezer, remember?"

Arthur gives her the softest smile he's ever given her. Then he traces something on her hand and she freezes. Francine hadn't even told him, yet. He opens his mouth. "Ahh…" Her eyes widen.

"Stop it!" She scolds. Francine knows how much it hurts Arthur to try and speak, let alone laugh or groan. "You're going to hurt yourself."

He doesn't stop. "Ahhg. Looof…Yu." Arthur's panting hard with a pained expression on his face, but Francine is too stunned to even move.

"You –!" He kisses her on the lips. And then he's gone, charging straight into the angry mob behind them, who wield torches and pitchforks.

She runs.

She hates herself for it. But she runs. Francine is running and crying and screaming. Her mind is filled of Arthur and sorrow.

XXX

Francine makes it safely to the estate, wishing that she were dead.

The man in front of her, who looks so painfully like Arthur, takes one look at her and seems to know what has happened. He rushes out into the forest, calling for his shotgun and horse.

He doesn't return until night.

Arthur is in his arms, mangled and bloodied. Francine's heart shatters into a million pieces and the estate is filled with her sobs.

They bury him among the roses and lilies.

Francine becomes the governess, at Arthur's brother's request, and gave birth to twins, Amelia and Matthew, close to the anniversary of her love's death.


End file.
